Invictus
by ThexOnexWhoxWanders
Summary: During a supply run, Jesus finds himself at the mercy of an intimidating stranger. He never imagined striking a deal for ammo would lead to so much more. And Zora… Zora never thought she'd belong anywhere again. Especially not caught between two groups with a madman on her trail. Pre-Negan. Slow burn Jesus/OC. Possible/probably Daryl/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** During a supply run, Jesus finds himself at the mercy of an intimidating stranger. He never imagined striking a deal for ammo would lead to so much more. And Zora… Zora never thought she'd belong anywhere again. Especially not caught between two groups with a madman on her trail. Pre-Negan. Slow burn Jesus/OC. Daryl-OC friendship (I think).

 **A/N: Yep, I know Jesus is gay. But this is fanfiction and all make-believe. So we're going to make-believe, people. Also… I started writing this before I knew that.**

 **One**.

Jesus kept his distance… watched her from afar. Something about the way the woman walked, confidently, her shoulders pulled back and strong, her stance balanced, warned him that this was a wise decision. It wasn't just the stranger's manner that kept him at a distance – it was her garb. A black, tactical looking vest was strapped tightly over her chest, seemingly made to fit her. Perhaps it had been, before the world had gone to shit. She wore it like a second skin. Three daggers were sheathed at the front of it, another at the side. A thigh holster wrapped around what appeared to be lean, agile legs, holding a mean looking Glock. As if she weren't armed enough, a sword swung at her back, glinting in the dying sunlight, sharp and deadly and, oddly, beautiful.

He'd been searching the small town for supplies to bring back to Hilltop when he had spotted her. Lucky she hadn't seen him first, something told him. The woman looked like a walking machine; cold, calculating. _Smart_.

Fortune had bestowed Jesus with the ability to sneak about. He was crafty, resourceful, and a damn good fighter, but he knew when to remain disengaged and when to step up. This was one of those moments when some primal knowledge, deep within the recesses of his mind, told Jesus to stay away. But to watch. Keep an eye on the predatory woman. Observe and take note.

She was paranoid – rightly so. Keeping a sharp, hard eye over her shoulder every which way she went, dispatching every walker she passed with a merciless, efficient swing of her sword. If Jesus weren't so wary of her, he would have been in awe. The world had ended almost two years ago, and still he'd never seen someone so… ruthless.

There was certainly no one comparable to her at Hilltop. The lot there – they weren't fighters. Hadn't been outside the wall since it all began, lucky bastards. That wasn't on them. They were fortunate, or as fortunate as anyone could be given the circumstances. But they weren't _prepared_.

He watched silently as the woman disappeared into a shop – an apothecary, of all places – the heavy entrance door sliding shut behind her. His skin crawled. Some part of him wanted to follow her in there. It didn't feel right, not keeping a careful watch on her. He had every intention of returning to Hilltop that evening… but something about this woman told him that, should they cross paths, he might not have that option.

Crouched atop the stout building across the street, covered by the waist-high stone wall that encircled the building's rooftop, Jesus waited. Eyes glued to the storefront, breath caught in his throat, sweat trickling down his spine from the heat of the sun. Goosebumps crawled up his arms. Primal instinct kicked in.

He suddenly felt like prey.

Behind him, he could feel the air shift. His thoughts came and went fast – someone was there, with him; turn around, Jesus, take the upper hand, disarm them and –

"Stay still."

A woman's voice – _her_ voice. Light but low, gravelly in a way that would've made any man melt Before. That was a voice used to seduce, to talk her prey into obeying. It was commanding and rich and… _fuck_. He was fucked.

Jesus did as she said, muscles vibrating with how still he tried to be. His hands slowly came up, forming the universal sign of _please don't shoot me_ , but he didn't turn around. Something told him she didn't want him to, yet.

"You've been watching me for the past half hour," the woman stated matter-of-factly. There was no accusation in her tone, no malevolence. Just logic. Reason. "Wanna tell me why?"

Jesus swallowed thickly. His heart raced in his chest, going so far as to thump all the way to his very fingertips, but he kept a cool head. He'd been in worse situations. This was manageable. He could salvage this…

"I was scavenging," Jesus finally answered, clearing his throat, his tone coming out scratchy, muffled by the bandana wrapped over his face. "Saw you take down a mob of the dead. Didn't want to…" He trailed off. Didn't want to what? Get caught seeing something that looked so personal? The way she'd killed them… that was passion. There was something behind that. A damn good story.

"Didn't want to what?" the woman echoed his thoughts. He couldn't be sure, but amusement seemed to line her words. "Not good at making friends, are you?"

"Are we friends?" he found himself asking immediately. No thought, just words. There was an edge – both literal and figurative – lying just before him, and the next few moments would determine if he'd stay on the right side of it or not.

The woman shifted on her feet. He could hear it in the crunch of the gravel on the rooftop – a sound she had managed to subdue upon sieging him. "You tell me."

He smiled to himself, both bitter and darkly amused. "I'm sure we've both heard this a million times, but I wasn't planning on hurting you. Just wanted to keep my distance."

The air between them tensed – it thickened as if a fog had descended on the pair. Jesus still remained crouched, his hands in the air, his legs aching from lack of movement.

"Are you armed?" came her next question.

He wondered what his chances were of getting away from her. The rooftop was only one story tall… he could jump, brace the landing well enough, try to get away. But he had a feeling she'd swing down after him. Just a feeling. And if he didn't land it right… that was a messed up ankle, for sure.

The woman clucked her tongue lightly, reading his thoughts. "Don't try to run. I don't want to shoot a man in the back," she warned, genuinely sounding averse to the idea. "Just answer my question. Are you armed?"

He nodded. "Two hunting knives – one in my boot, the other on my belt. Got a handgun in my jacket for emergencies."

Was that a scoff? "That's all?" She almost laughed. "You are _severely_ under equipped for these parts." Then a pause – she was thinking. "You alone?"

If he said 'yes' she might just shoot him then and there and be done with it. No loose ends. No lingering threat. If he said no, the situation would either escalate, or she'd vanish.

Inexplicably, he answered, "Yes."

She 'hmmed'. "I believe you. I would've noticed someone else lurking around." Another pause, and the tension in the air lifted, if only somewhat. "You can turn around. Keep your hands up though – don't try anything."

He did as he was told for the second time that day. This wasn't usually how things went. Jesus was something of a thief, a damn good one at that – he was typically the one maintaining an air of authority, control over a situation. But he'd been bested. He'd admit that.

Slowly turning around, rising to his feet in order to give reprieve to his aching legs, Jesus kept his hands up, parallel, palms out in a non-threatening gesture.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't fucking _desperate_ to get a glimpse of her face. A woman who moved like that, talked like that…

When he was finally facing her, his eyes darted over her hungrily. She was surprisingly petite, a jarring contrast to the strong woman he'd seen down below, but still tall, lined with lean muscle, a small frame but a commanding presence. Nearly coming to his 6' height, her nose probably at his chin, should they stand face to face, but half his size, in terms of bone structure and muscle mass. Her rich dark hair, cut short and sloppily to sit just above her shoulders, ruffled in the breeze; a reddish hue glinted off the strands, taking on the fiery play of the sunset.

Yeah. He was fucked.

She was gorgeous, deadly – he couldn't look away. Couldn't even tell how long he'd been staring, memorizing her face, glancing over her scars, her big green eyes, the scowl on her pink, pursed lips. She could shoot him between the eyes and he likely wouldn't notice. Wouldn't even flinch. Jesus was rarely taken off guard, due to his attentive nature – but this was something else. Something… tantalizing.

The woman blinked at him, likely unimpressed with his long hair, the black bandana covering his lips, his overall roughed-up appearance. The gun he had earlier seen strapped to her thigh was now in her hand, pointed directly at him. She was unwavering, simultaneously sizing him up and clearly debating the merits of killing him outright.

He ventured to help sway her judgement. "Are _you_ alone?"

Another blink. Deep green eyes stared at him, blankly, but her mouth gave her thoughts away. She bit her lip. "I guess so."

Not the answer he was expecting. "You guess so?"

She shrugged. The daggers strapped to the front of her vest rose and fell with the movement, drawing his eye, before his gaze flitted back up to hers. She studied him again – eyes hard, probing, almost all-seeing, he thought – before she finally lowered her gun.

Relief flooded Jesus's stomach, so strong, so powerful that he nearly laughed out loud. Another life-and-death situation avoided. He'd have to start making a tally. Slowly, he lowered his hands to his sides, but continued to keep them in sight. Satisfied, the woman holstered her weapon, but her stance was no less firm. She was ready for a fight, should the need arise.

Instead of answering his question, she came back with another. "Got any medicine?"

Dark eyebrows rose on Jesus's face. "What kind do you need?"

Pushing a strand of hair out of her face – and thereby drawing attention to the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead, her cheeks, the dark blush, almost unhealthy, that washed over her face– the woman sighed. "Antibiotics, I think."

"Fever?"

"Yeah."

Jesus's light eyes turned cautious. "Have you been bit?"

"No. Infection." She considered her next words, whether to mince them or not. Finally, she added, "Week old knife would. I ran out of antibiotics about three days ago. It was healing just fine until yesterday."

Jesus nodded, considering the situation. Hilltop's doctor could take a look at her, get her some help. But that involved risk. She was an unknown – and worse than that, she was dangerous. He had a duty to his people. Could he really risk their lives for a stranger?

"No antibiotics in that apothecary?" he asked, eyes turning towards the store.

The woman snorted. "No. Mostly fish oils. Don't think that'll help."

"No, I suppose not."

The way she looked at him, eyes open for once, reading him up and down and inside out – he could tell she was dissecting his thoughts, his intentions. She could see he was hesitant to help her.

"I can offer you something in exchange," she said suddenly. One hand disappeared into the jacket hanging over her tactical vest and rummaged around. Jesus tensed, fingers seeking out his knife, but the woman put up a hand. "No worries." Slowly, to prove to him she wasn't attacking, she produced another handgun, grip facing him. Looking him over, she barely restrained a smirk. "You don't have a gun on you. I can tell. You need one?"

Clever woman. He simultaneously wanted to run from her and step towards her… she was a fucking _magnet_. But Jesus wasn't happy his ruse had so easily been rooted out. No one had ever questioned any of his variations of the truth before. Not ever.

But the gun she was proffering – it was almost too good to pass up. He wanted it, bad. Hilltop had run out of bullets months ago, leaving them with rudimentary spears for their sole protection. And the gun meant that this woman had ammo, and he was itching to get his hands on it.

But at what cost?

"I need ammo more than the gun," Jesus broached the topic carefully, watching her sharply.

A spark of something – recognition? – lit up the woman's green eyes, and she seemed to nod to herself. "You're from Hilltop." Again, she stated this matter of factly. It wasn't a question. Not an accusation. Just the truth. "Makes sense."

Jesus's hands clenched at the mention of his safe haven. She knew about it? How many others knew? Where did she come from?

"Don't worry," the stranger was quick to reassure. "I only know because it's my job to know." Whatever the fuck that means. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Because we're friends?" Jesus asked sardonically, referring to the earlier phrase.

The woman smiled. He hadn't expected that – not from someone who seemed to breathe seriousness, gauntness, somberness. But the smile was bright – filled with actual amusement – and she chuckled. "Yeah," she said, that gravelly tone sinking down into his belly. "'Cause we're friends."

* * *

Several minutes passed in a contemplative silence; Jesus was slowly running through his options for what to do with the woman, and the stranger seemed content enough to allow him to. He pulled his bandana down and rubbed at his beard, the sweat accumulating on his chin. It wasn't an easy decision. Hilltop was vulnerable, and this odd woman before him – she was dangerous. But she was also sick, and hadn't shot him outright. Crossing paths with a stranger was merit enough to kill someone, in this new world. And hell, she'd even offered an exchange of goods.

She could be valuable to his group.

He studied the graceful, yet tired, movement of her body as she shifted about and sat against the rooftop's balustrade, exhaustion lining her every move. One foot splayed out in front of her, the other knee propped up, hands resting at her sides. She watched him, their eyes meeting, lingering, neither looking away. She was patient, collected – he'd give her that.

Running a hand through his hair, Jesus sighed. He glanced at his feet before meeting her green gaze again. "Hilltop isn't far from here. We have a doctor."

The woman seemed immediately against this train of thought, to his surprise. "No," she stated firmly, voice hoarse. "I'm not going with you anywhere."

"I really won't hurt you," Jesus reaffirmed.

Puckering her lips, the woman looked away. "Nonnegotiable," she said. "Could you bring them to me? Not the doctor – the antibiotics? I've got a decent stash of ammo at my camp in return."

"Your camp? You got other people?"

When she shook her head, Jesus was inclined to believe her. "Like I said, just me."

"Why's that?"

The woman's previously open gaze shut itself off. She didn't frown, but she looked none too pleased at his curiosity. "Hard to find reasonable people in this new world, especially when you don't have a place like Hilltop to rely on."

Jesus shook his head. "Hard to find reasonable people there, sometimes, too."

The woman ignored his shared sentiment and got down to business. "You need ammo. I can give you some."

"I'm not especially inclined to leave you here while I grab meds. No offense, sweetheart, but I could be walking into an ambush."

To her credit, she didn't look offended at his distrust. "I get your hesitance. If you don't wanna help me, that's fine. I need to get going then. This fever will eat me up if I don't find something to quell it soon. I hear dying of infection really bites."

She made to stand, shoving her hands beneath her, but Jesus held up his palm, silently telling her to stop. His eyebrows pulled together as he studied her once more, the sweat on her brow, the ruddy color of her face. Definitely sick. She was right about one thing – if she didn't get antibiotics soon, she'd be dead to the world in a matter of days.

It seemed absurd to him, that someone so strange and rare should merely die. Of infection, of all things. The thought didn't sit well with him.

"Okay," he finally agreed. "I'll go. Bring you the meds." He glanced towards the dying light of the sun. It was dipping below the tree line, casting the world in shades of violet and orange. "It'll take about two hours, round trip. Think you'll be good here for that long?"

The woman smiled weakly and patted her weaponry. "I'm sure I'll manage."

Grabbing his pack, he slung it over his shoulder and turned away from her, determined to make a quick trip. Before he descended the rooftop, he heard her call out.

"Wait up – what's your name?"

Jesus grinned. People were always surprised at this part. He turned and faced her, arms out, palms up. "Name's Paul." Then he motioned towards his beard. "But my friends call me Jesus."

He watched her eyebrows shoot up in amusement. Instead of remarking on his nickname, she merely said, "I'm Zora."

* * *

The others had been confused when Jesus arrived back at Hilltop, moving quickly in his determination, darting towards the doctor's trailer for the supplies, then to the main house for some food and a pair of radios, before returning to the gate. He heard them talk, their whispers. People trusted him here, but they were still wary of him, how he'd come and go. Always.

He didn't blame them. People had been wary of him even before the world ended. Rightly so.

Bypassing informing Gregory of his encounter in order to save time, he yelled at Wesley, the nighttime gatekeeper, to let him back out. The young man did as he was told with a befuddled expression, watching Jesus lope back out into the night like a specter.

The town he'd met Zora in – Springfield – was an hour's walk away from Hilltop. Not terribly far, in his experience, but it seemed to drag on. There were countless dead on the way, distracting him, pulling him from his mission. No mobs, luckily, but enough to be pesky.

He was fifteen minutes out from Springfield when he heard the chortle of a truck engine. Jesus had been trailing on the side of a road, pace increased at his proximity to the small town, when he noticed the sound. Also from experience, he knew that was never a good sign. Headlights flashed over the foliage around a bend some 100 meters in front of him, so he darted into the brush, laying low to the ground.

The truck passed him without trouble, its passengers lethargic, hardly paying any mind to the details of their surroundings. He counted five men – three in the bed of the truck, assault rifles strapped to them, two in the cabin. Whatever group they belonged too might not be far from Hilltop. That was a problem.

Once they'd drifted from sight and the sound of the truck engine had dispelled, Jesus stood again, brushing dirt and leaves from his pants. He hefted his pack and started walking, faster, towards his destination. The woman – Zora – didn't seem to be in a dire situation just yet, but he didn't want to take chances. If she died before he reached her, he'd never know where her cache of ammo was.

And more than that – he'd never learn anything else about her. It nagged him, more than he cared to admit.

He nearly sprinted when the building he'd left her atop of came in sight. Inexplicably, his heart pounded away in his ribcage, as if part of him expected her to be gone when he climbed up. He was half-convinced she wasn't even real, but a strange figment of his imagination, conjured to wake him up, cerebrally, to pay _attention_. He hadn't done that in so long – just… paid attention. To the world, the people still in it. But this woman…

Thankfully, she was still there when he climbed up the ladder.

For a brief moment, he thought she might've been sleeping. She had arranged her pack in such a way that it served as a temporary pillow, softening the bite of the concrete behind her. One hand rested over her abdomen protectively – where he assumed her wound must be. Her eyes were closed, her breathing measured, but as soon as he was in full sight, those green eyes flickered open. She was exhausted, but entirely alert.

"Took you long enough," she remarked, some sarcasm in her gravelly tone. She shivered, huddling further into her jacket. "Thought I was gonna die here, in the middle of fucking nowhere."

"Not today," Jesus replied, pulling off his pack. He opened it and foraged about for the bottle of antibiotics. Finding it, he held it up, showing it off in the moonlight, before stepping closer and handing it to her. "Two now, one for every day after."

Zora accepted the bottle as if it were some grand gift. "Thank you," she uttered while she quickly unscrewed the cap and shook two pills out into her palm. Grabbing a water bottle, she knocked them back and swallowed them, closing her eyes in relief. "Fuck." Then she looked at him, skin milky under the moonlight, eyes dark and tired. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd come back."

His legs ached from his journey. Setting his pack off to the side, Jesus joined her on the ground, settling up against the low wall, propping his elbows on his knees. "You don't have a lot of trust for people, do you?"

The woman chuckled. "Not an ounce." She took a conservative swig of her water again, capping it, placing it back into her pack. Letting her head rest back against the wall, she shut her eyes. "I know my body is a metaphorical inferno right now, but I'm fucking _freezing_. Last I felt this cold was in Russia."

He considered her, the shivers, the frown on her lips. After a moment, he turned to his bag and pulled out a blanket. It was meager, thin enough to be stuffed into the bag and not take up too much space, but it was something. He offered it to her, which she accepted with another quiet thank you, and draped it over herself, huddling underneath.

"Are you Russian?" Small talk. He wasn't heading back to Hilltop tonight, that was for sure. Not without the ammo. But she wasn't in any condition to travel, and it'd be better to travel during the day tomorrow. They'd camp here together for the night.

The woman scoffed. "No. Worked there, some time ago." She left it at that. Shivers began to wrack her small frame, and Jesus pitied her momentarily. It was shit luck to have an infection during the end of the world. Not a lot of options, there.

"You want my jacket?"

Now she laughed – a genuine, sparkling sound he didn't quite expect. Her eyes were all lit up when she glanced at him, smile on her lips. "Are you some kind of gentleman or something? First the antibiotics, then the blanket, now your jacket?"

Rolling his light-colored eyes, Jesus shrugged. Then he pulled his jacket off, since she hadn't answered anyway, and tucked it around her body, taking care not to touch her too much. "I figure I'd want some help if I were on my own, sick, and screwed."

"So you're a bleeding heart, then? A _true_ Jesus wannabe. How charming."

He scoffed, glare turned on her. "Doesn't sound charming when you put it like that."

Silence overcame the pair. They sat in it for several minutes; Jesus watched the moon, Zora listened intently – for what, he wasn't sure.

Finally: "A truck passed by here, maybe thirty minutes ago." Her tone was cautious, as if she were reluctant to share this information with him, but her eyes were hungry and dark. This was important to her.

Jesus turned to her, jaw set. "Yeah, passed right by me. You recognize it?"

Again, hesitance shaded her expression. She rolled her lip between her teeth and fidgeted one of the daggers on her vest. "Yeah," she admitted reluctantly. Heavy pause. "I think they're looking for me."

Brows furrowed, Jesus ran his eyes over the woman once more, as if he could find something on her that would explain why. But perhaps it was obvious – she was a walking menace, a danger, a woman determined to survive and unparalleled in her will to do so, without equal in her ability. Someone like that had to turn heads. Hell, it had turned his, and he didn't even know her.

"You do something to someone?"

Zora glared at him. "That your roundabout way of asking if I killed anyone?"

When she put it like that… "Yeah, pretty much."

Frowning again, Zora turned her attention to her hands. In the faint light of the moon, Jesus could just barely make out markings on them. Scars. Etched all over the backs of her hands, all in different shapes and sizes. Grizzly. He stared at them, too, both awed and disgruntled by their obvious cruelty.

"Yeah," Zora said. "I killed someone." She paused, letting those words sink into the night air. Noting Jesus's immediate stiffening, she continued. "To be fair, he tried to kill me first."

That was better, at least. He wasn't sitting next to a cold-blooded killer. "Why?"

She ran a slim finger over her palm. "Can't be sure. I guess there are all kinds of reasons to kill someone, nowadays."

Jesus hmmed in acknowledgement.

Closing herself off to him, Zora turned on her side, seemingly preparing to sleep. "We'll get up at first light tomorrow. I'll take you to the ammo." And that was that.

* * *

Though he had been cold throughout most of the night, Jesus awoke warm, huddled under something, clutching it tightly to his chest. At first, he assumed the rising sun had done its work – rays rested comfortably on his face, making him feel… content. But as he flickered his eyes open, he realized that the meager blanket he'd offered Zora the previous night was now wrapped around himself, imbued with his body heat and the heat of the sun, and over that, his jacket.

He sat upright, immediately alert. Had she left? He needed that ammo. If she was gone, he'd wasted medications and time –

"Hey."

His gaze darted towards her voice. She was across the rooftop, crouched, Glock in her hands, as if she'd been keeping lookout. In a tired manner, she rose and crossed towards him, setting the safety on the weapon. She grabbed at her abdomen on occasion, as if experiencing pain.

"You good?" she asked him, noting the bleariness in his gaze, the fear.

Her pallor was better than the previous day – had more color to it, more vitality. Though her green eyes looked washed out with fatigue, they were sharp as ever, looking him over for… what, he didn't know.

"You were mumbling in your sleep," she finally said, when he had yet to answer her.

Oh. "It's nothing," Jesus reassured, though his brows puckered. Nightmares had been plaguing him all too often, lately. "How long have you been up?"

The woman shrugged. "An hour, maybe. Thought you could use more rest. You looked cold."

Hence the blanket. He pulled it from his body, trying hard not to imagine this woman draping it over him, and began folding it up. "Yeah. Thanks."

A pause settled over them as he packed up his things. Finally, he glanced up at her, only to find her eyes wandering the horizon, her shoulders tense. "Something wrong?"

She sighed. "Truck came by again. About fifteen minutes ago. We'll have to be careful when we head to my camp."

His lips pursed. "Who are they?"

Not a question she wanted asked, as evidenced by the scowl on her face. "No one you need to worry about."

He nearly scoffed. "Doesn't sound that way."

"Just trust me."

Now he did scoff. "Hard to trust someone you don't know." He made a point to glance at her hands, the scars wrapped around them, dotting them, like some gruesome artwork. "What's up with those?"

Following his gaze, she flexed her hands, tucked them into her jacket pocket as if she were ashamed of them. "Don't ask. You ready to go?"

Although they'd gotten along well enough the previous night, the woman had closed herself off yet again. He wasn't terribly surprised. She seemed like the type: locked up, independent, headstrong… secretive. Tough to crack. Someone he would have been enticed by even before the end of the world. Guess that hadn't changed about him.

But there was something he needed to remember, and remember well – he didn't need to crack her. Didn't need to know her. All he needed was the ammo she had, and then he'd be on his way back to Hilltop. She didn't want to go with him, so that was that.

Watching as she pulled her bag over her shoulders, situated her sword, and checked the chamber of her Glock, Jesus tried to reinforce this thought in his mind.

You don't need to know her. You just need to use her.

But, as he considered himself a self-actualized man, he at least recognized that this was easier said than done.

* * *

The Georgia heat was oppressive, pounding down upon the pair of travelers like a physical presence, slowing their movements for the sake of health. When possible, they traveled under the shade of a forest canopy, taking relief in the cool air that filtered through the trees. But more often than not, they were crossing fields, barren of trees and all life, or a stretch of hot, black-topped highway. Zora's camp was a good two hours away from Springfield, three from Hilltop. And the further the sun rose in the sky, the thicker the air grew.

She walked ahead of him, serving the dual purpose of leading the way and allowing him some sense of safety, in that he could keep an eye on her. He had to give her credit – she was unnervingly observant. Having caught on to his distrust – not only in regards to the men out looking for her or the scars on her hands – she allowed him space to feel comfortable.

It also served to further embitter him to the idea of leaving her behind. Dark past or not, this woman was decent. The part of Jesus that retained his sense of humanity reared at the thought of not sparing a look back as he would eventually leave again for Hilltop. It just seemed wrong.

"We aren't too far," Zora said, breaking up their hours-long silence. She had opted out of conversation after his remarks on her scars, a dark mood settling over her. He hadn't bothered to budge her in any way. "Maybe half an hour away."

"You certainly went out of your way to go to Springfield," he commented casually, though there was an underlying question in his tone.

She chuckled whilst stepping over a fallen tree. They had entered an old forest, now, completely free of the overbearing sun, heading further into the heart of the underbrush. "Your unspoken question is warranted, I suppose. Yeah – I was looking to avoid someone."

He smiled at her snark. "Anyone in particular?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him, expression unreadable. "You are unusually adept at slow interrogations. Is that what you do at Hilltop? Interrogate people?"

Jesus saw this as an opening. If he told her more about himself, maybe she'd open up in the same way. "Not necessarily. I scavenge for them. Sometimes seek out other communities like ours to trade with."

"So you deal with people. Strangers."

"Only on occasion. Normally I just come across small groups of travelers. They don't have much to offer."

Throwing him another look, she asked, "So is that what you're looking for? People who can offer you things? Goods?"

He pursed his lips. "Sometimes."

"And other times?"

"I don't know. Just good people. People who can help build a better community."

They trekked on for a few more minutes, his words settling over the stranger. She walked with undeniable power in her step, though now that he was aware she was sick, he could see the fatigue lining her shoulders, her arms. She wasn't good for much more travel. But when she was back to full health, he could only imagine the way she might carry herself. The true strength she had. Who had she been, before all this happened?

"I wouldn't belong in your community," Zora finally said, but a tremor in her tone bespoke something deeper about her, another layer she was keeping under wraps.

Jesus knew he should tread carefully. She was like a feral animal – ready to attack or run at any moment. "I think you would."

"You have the unfortunate disadvantage of not knowing me," she merely replied. "Or perhaps the very fortunate advantage. If you did, you wouldn't feel the same."

"I disagree."

That halted her, unexpectedly. She didn't turn to face him yet, but she did linger. Her head was canted, as if she were looking about the canopy. Eventually, she turned to him. He was startled by the clear emotion in her gaze. It seemed uncharacteristic of the cold, logical woman he had initially met. "You seem like a good man. A decent one. There aren't many of those left. So allow me to deliver you a warning – you don't want to keep me around. I bring trouble everywhere I go."

Those words would haunt him, whenever he thought of her. But in that moment, he thought them hollow. A fancy warning for a scared woman to hide behind.

He took a measured step towards her. She didn't back away. "There's trouble everywhere in this world, now." Holding her gaze, his light eyes boring into her, he stated, "I'd rather deal with your trouble, knowing you can handle yourself and protect other people. You're valuable. A fighter."

His words must've struck a nerve with her, for she turned about and began walking again, though this time with more purpose. "You're wrong."

"I haven't seen anything yet to prove that," he countered, knowing his argument held on good footing. This woman was just scared, distrustful. If she could just overcome that…

Suddenly, Zora dropped to the ground, darting towards a massive, hollowed out tree to their right. She dragged Jesus along with her, forcing him along, before shoving him up against the rough bark, pressing herself closely to his side. Confused, he searched her face for answers, finding her eyes burning and bright, alert.

"Stay quiet," she ordered him, green gaze turning about. She kept a hand on him, as if to ensure he'd remain in place, and that hand distracted him more than he cared to admit. "Someone's here."

He hadn't heard anything, but that didn't mean she was wrong. They sat for several moments in silence, allowing the natural sounds of the forest to build up around them. Her body was pressed against his, warm still with fever, firm with muscle, steady. He blinked, forcing the thoughts from his mind, and instead tried to pinpoint the source of her anxiety.

A tree branch snapped some yards away from them, making him flinch. She was right – there was someone else here. Holding his breath, he looked to her to take the lead. This was an area she knew, so she probably had a clue as to who was out there.

The deep frown marring her features told Jesus that it was no one good. She unholstered her Glock and quietly pulled back the hammer, chambering a bullet.

Another branch snapped. Someone was walking towards them. Silently. Not one of the dead, then. Too big to be an animal. Not accustomed to the forest. Couldn't keep their footsteps light enough.

When a twig snapped startlingly close to the pair, Zora finally darted out, standing upright in one swift movement and firing off her weapon.

Blood spattered on the ground, on her vest, her face. Jesus hovered behind her and got a good look at the mess.

A man, who'd been holding a hunting rifle, now had his head blown off. He lay haphazardly at Zora's feet, blood trickling thickly from his neck. Zora stared down at the body with a clenched jaw. She recognized this man, Jesus could tell. She was tense, coiled tight like a snake about to lash out. Whatever had overcome her, whatever recognition she had, put the pair at a disadvantage. They didn't see the other man step out from behind a tree.

"Hands up," he ordered, making Jesus flinch. His hand instinctively went for his hunting knife on his belt, the but man saw this. He focused his weapon on Jesus, now, and said in a growl, "Don't do that, my friend. S'not you we want."

"No," Zora spoke up calmly, stepping in front of Jesus, shielding him. "It's not. You shouldn't be out here, Franco. I hear there's a monster lurking in these woods."

The way she said that, that one little phrase, sent shivers up Jesus's spine.

But the man, Franco, laughed at Zora. "You think we're scared of you, little girl?"

Zora smiled coldly. "I think your man Samuel was, when he realized I wasn't so easy to kill. But I guess he can't be scared anymore, considering he's dead." Glancing at the dead man at her feet, Zora added, "And now Jonathan. Two men in two weeks. Still feel like you have the upper hand?"

Franco stiffened, hiking his gun up, pointing it at Zora's face. Inexplicably, Jesus wanted to step forth, to put himself between the weapon and her, but he knew better. Zora had taken up her position for a reason. He remained behind her, deferring to her judgement.

"I think there's a real pretty price on your head," Franco informed her harshly. "Athol sent a horde of hunters out for you – wants you brought back alive." He whistled at her, cruelty burning bright in his lecherous gaze. "Guess there are some things worse than death, huh, darlin'?"

Zora shifted, pushed her jacket back a bit, as if she were uncomfortable. It took Jesus a moment to realize what she did.

There was another handgun strapped to her lower back, ready for him to grab. He did so, slowly, so as not to draw attention to himself, and flicked off the safety.

"Now I must say," Zora began casually, as if a gun weren't pointed in her face, "I'm a little hurt. Was it just you and Jonathan sent over this way? Didn't anyone realize you weren't enough?"

Franco bared his yellow teeth at her. "You won't be singin' that song when I drag you to Athol's feet myself, sweetheart. Better tell your boy there to head off. Wouldn't want him to get caught in the crossfire, would ya?"

"No," Zora allowed, glancing over at Jesus. She gave him a look; one that said _now_.

Jesus didn't hesitate. It'd been a while since he'd fired a gun, but it was like riding a bike... sort of. He sidestepped Zora, raised the weapon, and shot Franco between the eyes. The man fell to his knees before crumpling to the forest floor, his blood mixing into the dirt.

Panting heavy, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Jesus turned to Zora. "What the fuck was that?"

The woman frowned at the two bodies littering the forest. "That," she said, tone low and dark, "is why you don't want to stick around me much longer." She sighed. "Evidently, there's a bounty on my head."

* * *

After pocketing the ammo they'd found on the bodies of Jonathan and Franco and relieving them of their weapons, Zora and Jesus finally approached her camp, just a half an hour away from the site.

Her 'camp' wasn't a camp at all. It was a room in a stout apartment building, surprisingly tidy. Normal looking. The bed was half unmade, but aside from that, there was hardly any dust in the place, hardly an item out of place.

"You call this a camp?" Jesus asked, incredulous.

"Not sure what else to call it," she shrugged. Tossing the two hunting rifles she'd confiscated on the couch in the living room, Zora sighed and sunk into a chair, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against it. "Can you grab my water?"

Jesus did as she asked, handing her the bottle of lukewarm water from her pack. She accepted it gratefully and took another swig, careful not to drink too much. "Fuck. My head's pounding."

"You're still sick," he told her, searching around her bag for the bottle of antibiotics. Once he found them, he shook one out. "Here. Take this. You should lay down."

She took the pill, but objected. "No. I'll get the ammo. You should be on your way."

"It can wait," he found himself telling her. "I'm not gonna leave when you look like you can barely stand on your feet. Especially not when some sick fucks are out there looking for you." He grabbed her elbow, lightly, and lead her to the bed. "Lay down."

Zora's tired eyes brightened at his order, as if she were amused. "Yes, sir," she commented sarcastically, sinking into the bed. She groaned, allowing her body to relax, before blinking up at him. "You can't stay. It's too dangerous."

"It's dangerous to leave, too," he pointed out. He started looking around for food – she needed to eat something. They both did. Finding a can of soup, he popped it open and filled two bowls he found in the cupboards. "More men could be out there. He said a horde of hunters were out looking for you."

Accepting the bowl of soup, Zora considered this. "I'm not sure how much truth there is to that story. Athol's a tricky bastard. Can make ten men seem like one hundred."

Sitting beside her on the bed, Jesus appraised her. "Who is he?"

The question she'd been avoiding for the past day. She couldn't put it off any longer – she seemed to recognize that. Huffing, she laid back against a pillow, eyes closing again. "A real piece of work. His people – they capture small groups of travelers. And they sell them. There are a few communities in the region that value human commodity." She paused, thinking over her next words. "Sometimes for labor. Sometimes to act as human shields. Sometimes… for food."

"Fuck," Jesus said, glancing at her hands again, the scars that peppered them. "And they caught you?" That was hard for him to imagine. He'd seen her fight, take down a mob of the dead. She was ruthless and efficient.

"After several attempts, yes. The first two men who approached me managed to wound me." She gestured towards her abdomen, where Jesus assumed her infected knife wound was. "Made it easier to track me. The second group of men they sent… I killed them all. The third – well, there was about fifty men total. Guess they wanted me, and I was in bad shape. Nothing I could do."

He studied her silently, the lack of grief on her face, lack of fear or emotion. This woman was… odd, to say the least. She spoke about being held captive by a group that takes people as slaves as if it were just another day. As if it hadn't happened to her, but someone else.

He couldn't make sense of that. Her hands, those marks… they bespoke a certain cruelty he had never known himself. Not to that degree, anyway. They spoke of torture.

"How old are you?" he decided to ask, to shift the topic.

Opening one eye to give him an irritated look, she replied, "You know, I'm not a big fan of talking about myself."

He couldn't help it. He snorted. "No shit," he muttered to himself, busying his hands with sipping the bowl of soup.

They remained in silence again – a thing he was beginning to understand that this woman preferred – before Zora rolled her eyes and sat up, finishing her soup. "I'm twenty-five."

Jesus's light turquois eyes glanced over at her, surprised. She was so young. The way she carried herself, the way she spoke… he hadn't guessed at her age before, but he certainly wasn't expecting her to be younger than him.

"Twenty-seven," he told her. Tit for tat.

Zora merely nodded, though he could tell she was stashing that piece of information away. "Aren't your people going to come looking for you when you don't return for two days?" she suddenly questioned him, eyes shaded but curious. Suspicious.

Having both finished their soup, Jesus stood to place the bowls in the sink. He lingered, several feet away from her on the bed. "No. They're used to me taking off. Sometimes for weeks."

"You don't run the place, then?"

Jesus laughed. "No. That's a burden that doesn't rest on my shoulders." Though it also shouldn't rest on Gregory's, if he was being honest with himself. But the devil you know…

"So you're not gonna just take the ammo and go?" she asked, though by the flat tone of her voice, Jesus concluded that she already knew the answer to her own question.

"No," he said anyway. Fixing her with a firm look, he was unsurprised to find her staring right back. She seemed like the challenging type, the dominant personality in a room. But he was dumbfounded when her gaze shifted, looking him up and down from head to toe, oddly wary yet again.

Edging over on the queen-sized bed, Zora kept her arms tucked close to herself, but nodded to the space beside her. "You should rest, then. We might need to duck out of here sometime soon. I'm not stupid enough to think that someone won't come looking for Franco and Jonathan."

Jesus nodded. That was logical. But for some reason, his feet remained planted to the floor. He didn't accept the proffered space beside her… he couldn't. It seemed personal. And the way she'd just looked at him… he had a feeling she was probably tense around men. _Doubtless_ tense around men. Clearly, the ones who'd captured her had hurt her.

Smiling weakly at her kindness, Jesus shrugged and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll take the couch."

* * *

Jesus woke feeling heavy, as if he'd slept for several hours too long. Blinking his eyes open, he noted the early, shifting rays of sunlight twinkling inside the apartment, hovering over the floorboards beside the couch. They'd gone to sleep at, what – eight o'clock last night? It looked like it was around six, six-thirty AM. He hadn't slept so long in what felt like years.

A sound in the kitchen caught his attention. Glancing over, instinctively lying still in case there was an intruder, he spotted Zora sifting through cabinets quickly, placing things out on the counter. Preparing a pack.

He also noticed her change of clothes. The body-hugging tactical vest she had been wearing was gone, stripped away, laying forgotten on the dining table. Her knives were spread around it methodically, as if she'd straightened out each one to be a perfect distance away from one another. So she was a perfectionist, a neat freak. He tucked that information away.

Now she wore only a thin tank top, likely due to the heat of the morning, and a pair of shorts. Her long legs were lean, muscled… endless. Blinking, he shoved the thought away. Fuck, she was messing with his mind.

It didn't take long for Zora to notice he was awake, even though he hadn't shifted. Glancing at him, her green eyes bright even from the distance, she merely said, "Morning."

"Morning," he replied. Finally, he sat up. His muscles ached from their trek yesterday and from sleeping on the couch. Perhaps the bed would have been better, after all. "You going somewhere?"

"Just getting some stuff together." She opened her pack and shoved a few things in. "We shouldn't stay here much longer. Too dangerous."

"Where are you gonna go?"

Pausing her movement at the question, Zora tried hiding a frown. Clearly she was a planner by nature, but had yet to develop a strategy for the next couple of days. "Away from here," was all she said, at last.

He already anticipated her reaction, but he tried anyway. "You can come back with me."

"I can't," she said, giving him an obstinate look.

Jesus stood, stretching his legs out, his arms. He shook his head, annoyance prickling at him. This woman was too stubborn for her own good. If she'd just trust him… "What have you got to lose?" Probably not the best line of persuasion ever muttered before, but it was a start. "You said it yourself – you're on your own. You intend to stay that way?"

She didn't even look at him. "If it keeps me alive and free, then yes. I do."

Free. So that was her problem. She wanted to feel free. "You'd still have all the freedom you want at Hilltop. Hell, you can come and go as you please. But you need a base – somewhere to come back to. Somewhere to have supplies… shelter. You can't just pick a direction and start walking. There are people everywhere – alive and undead. People like the ones you already ran into. That sound like a good strategy to you?"

Her movements became jerky, irritated. Clenching her jaw, Zora finally looked at Jesus, her eyes roving over his face. "Why are you trying so hard?" It sounded like this was a question she'd wanted to ask for some time. "You held up your end of the bargain. I'll hold up mine. I can give you a decent stash of ammo and you can go on your way. Why… why complicate things?"

Jesus's mouth snapped shut. He looked away from her, muscle in his jaw ticking while he thought this over. She was right. He was pushing too hard. She was a stranger, for fuck's sake. Just some woman who'd ambushed him on a rooftop. What did he care if they parted ways?

Returning his turquois eyes to her, he found the answer to his own stupid question. It was in the way she stood – her shoulders back, strong, hands firmly at her side, head up. It was her gaze, challenging and dark and hard to penetrate. He liked the way she bit her lip when she was thinking. He liked that she was tough.

Fuck. Now wasn't the time for a fucking crush. Especially when the woman he crushed on clearly didn't feel the same for him.

"Fine," he said, tone harsher than he intended. For a moment, he thought she looked… hurt? "I'll take the ammo and leave. But on one condition."

Zora raised a prim eyebrow at him. "Which is?"

Crossing over to his pack, he reached in and pulled an old police radio out. Looking at it for a moment, a frown still settled on his lips, he stepped towards her and held it out. "This thing has a radius of one hundred miles. I have another. You need anything, you contact me on that. You keep it on you. Always."

Zora's gaze softened. She stared at the radio, still resting in his hands, looking like she wanted to simultaneously protest and agree. He was afraid she'd refuse him, call him foolhardy for even trying. But she didn't.

One scarred hand reached out, petite yet strong, and took the radio. Their fingers brushed, making Jesus hold his breath. Zora pulled her lip between her teeth and looked up at him from under thick lashes.

Fucking hell, she was going to kill him.

"All right," she said, voice softer than he'd yet heard it. "Let me give you some ammo."

* * *

An hour away from Hilltop, and Jesus still couldn't stop thinking about her. She was out there, alone, with a healing infection and wound, limited supplies, and only half of the ammo she'd had before. It was fucked up, since Hilltop desperately needed it, but he even felt bad about filching some of the ammo. She was on her own. He was in a group. She needed it more – didn't she?

But no – he'd seen her fight. With just that fucking sword, those daggers, she was a real menace. He had to take some assurance from that. She was a survivor. One of the best ones he'd met.

So why the fuck couldn't he let it go? Let her go? Stop thinking of her and start thinking about what to tell Gregory, how to explain where the ammo came from?

Zora would be a name that would haunt him. That, he felt with absolute conviction.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm trying to encourage more traffic for this story, so here's Chapter Two. Please leave a review to give me some thoughts! This fic is purposefully pre-Negan, because I'm anticipating a second part (sequel?) that will address Negan, but in a totally different way than the show (because I don't like to read/write about things that I already know).**

 **Now we're introduced to Rick and the gang. R &R!**

* * *

 **Two**

She'd been walking for three days when she finally decided to stop for some respite.

Zora felt like shit. The hole in her side, haphazardly stitched up by her own hands just over a week ago, ached with every step she took. The fever had dispersed some thirty-six hours ago, and the wound was starting to clear up again, but still – she felt like one of the undead, shuffling about on their feet, wandering aimlessly, endlessly. Hungry.

To avoid the oppressive sun, she trekked through the forest, heading west, if only because she knew Athol's camp was to the east. Getting as far away as possible from that fucked up son of a bitch was her one and only plan until circumstances changed. The forest, cool but humid, provided cover from the roads, where most hordes of the dead were and where any of Athol's men could find her. It also led her to a little cabin, quite a ways off from any main road, tucked near a picturesque little creek and a small field.

As with everything, Zora was immediately paranoid. It looked like a decent enough place to stay for the night, but she thoroughly cleared every room, closet, and cupboard – because, yeah, she'd found one of the dead in there at one point – before she declared the place safe enough for an evening.

Considering the cabin was mostly untouched, Zora assumed it had been a hunting cabin of sorts. It didn't look like anyone had lived here regularly before the outbreak, and it sure as hell didn't look like anyone had been back afterwards. Everything was eerily untouched. It almost looked… normal.

Satisfied with the state of the place, she sifted through the cabinets and pulled out some canned food, first eating an entire can of beans before delving into the peaches.

The peaches – those were the best. Soft and sugary and sweet. She closed her eyes as she ate them, imagined being somewhere else. Someone else.

Before she went to bed for the night, she looked at the radio Jesus had given her. Looked at it for a solid five minutes, sucking her lip between her teeth all the while.

Was it stupid that she actually thought about radioing him, just to see if he got back to Hilltop all right?

Yeah, it was. Because he was a stranger, and a liar. Some of the very first words he'd said to her were a lie – about him having a gun. A wise mistruth, but a deception all the same. It wouldn't normally bother her, but the ease with which he did it… he was practiced. Good.

Like her.

But she had to admit… he'd grown on her. Unlike most of the people she'd run into since the outbreak, he seemed like a decent man. The radio was proof of that. She had been suspicious, at first, that he was just trying to lure her back to Hilltop because of the commodity she was – a fighter, and a damn good one at that. From what she'd heard of Hilltop, they needed fighters. Desperately.

But now she was convinced that, though there was clearly some darker part to the man, there was something good in him, too. Something that made him bring the radio, offer it to her. Something that made him say without words that he'd come out and help her if she told him she needed it.

That was more than anyone had done for her in a long time. Such a long time.

Honestly, Zora forgot what it was like to trust people. But it had been that way before the outbreak. Nature of the job, and all.

Decidedly settling the radio next to her on the bed, easily within reach in case of an emergency, Zora drifted off to sleep. Thinking of the man with the turquois eyes and the pretentious nickname.

* * *

Another week found Zora several more miles to the west. It was slow going, but that was intended. She preferred scouring as much land as possible, understanding her surroundings, escape routes, clogged routes, where markets and other towns were. It took time, but it was effective. Knowledge of her environment always got her out of shit situations.

It helped a lot when she was surprised by a pair of men wandering near the same farm as her.

They looked… well quite honestly, they looked _rabid_. One had dark curly hair, slick with sweat, sticking to his head in places, going down to the thick of his neck. Scruff covered his face, as well as a few scars here and there – he'd been in some nasty fights. His eyes were a bit wild at the sight of her, dark, but that didn't compare to the other one. His hair was long and mussed, covering part of his face, the snarl on his lips. The jacket with cutoff sleeves revealed the power in his arms, further emphasized by the crossbow hitched in his hands. He pointed it at her right away and looked about ready to shoot her dead.

How she had managed to walk right into this pair, she wasn't sure. They must've been damn quiet – Zora had an ear for movement, for people. It was almost unheard of for someone to sneak up on her. But they hadn't – they were just as surprised to see her as she was them.

She'd already drawn her gun when she noticed them. It was pointed at the one with the cross bow, firm, steady. A bullet was faster than an arrow. She could kill him first, then get the other man.

"Now hold on a minute," the first man, with the curly hair, said. His voice was low, thick with a southern accent, but steady. Calm. "We don't mean any trouble."

It was then that she noticed the badge clipped to his belt, a bit hidden under his jean jacket, as if it were merely a forgotten accessory. She peered at it, scowling. "You a cop?" She very much doubted it. Likely pilfered the object off a dead police officer.

The man seemed surprised. "That obvious?"

Zora snorted. "Hardly." She nodded at his belt. "You've got a badge right there."

To her surprise, he glanced down, double checking to see if she were right. He clearly forgot about it. Looking back at her, seeming calmer now, he said, "Yeah, I was a cop."

"Which county?"

"King's."

"Not far from Atlanta," she commented, because she only half believed him. Besides, there were some shitty cops out there, before the outbreak. There sure as hell were probably some shitty cops out even still. "What're you doing all the way out here?"

He glanced at his friend, who hadn't lowered the crossbow an inch. "Atlanta's overrun," he said simply.

Zora nodded. Okay. That was true. So he was definitely from around Atlanta, and had maybe been a cop before. But his friend looked feral. She wasn't taking any chances.

"And you?" she asked the silent partner. "You a cop, too?"

The man scoffed, eyes narrowing, but didn't answer. She took that as a definitive 'no'.

"Wanna lower that crossbow?"

In return, the man growled, "Wanna lower your gun?" His voice was raspy… deep.

Zora held his relentless gaze. "Nope." She looked back at the cop. "More of you around?"

They seemed uneasy at this question. Elaborating, Zora said, "I want to know if we can just part ways."

Glancing at one another, the cop nodded. "You won't cause any trouble?"

It took every ounce of willpower for Zora not to roll her eyes. "Not looking for trouble. Just looking to keep going."

"You're on your own?"

Now she understood why they hadn't liked this question, either. It made her vulnerable. Catching on to her parallel feelings, the cop reassured, "Look, we're just looking for supplies. You wanna keep going on your way, that's your business. We just don't want anything to escalate."

He seemed genuine enough. The other man, she didn't trust at all, but this cop – yeah, he had definitely been a cop, before. She could see it now. In his stance, the way he addressed her, the way he commanded authority.

Lowering her gun took a lot of faith – faith that the other man wouldn't straight out shoot her – but she did it anyway. She was tired, too tired to fight them, and if they could just be on their separate ways without any trouble… well, then that would have to be acceptable.

Eyeing the man holding the crossbow, she intentionally holstered her weapon and set her hands at her sides, away from any knives. Following her lead, the man lowered his crossbow. He was overtly skeptical of her – the snarl on his lips told her as much – but he clearly deferred to his friend's judgement.

"Great," Zora said, sidestepping them, giving the pair a wide berth. "Have a great life." She kept an eye on them as she walked away, noting the gray Honda they'd obviously arrived in. She memorized it, its license plate, its scratches, just in case. Then she darted back into the forest, tired, hungry… alone again.

* * *

It was only hours later that she heard gunshots ring through the air, maybe a mile off. Zora cocked her head to the side, stopping beside a mossy tree, and crouched low to the ground. The shots came from behind her, where those men were. Though she figured they had probably left the site by now, she could be wrong. Maybe they had a camp around there.

It wasn't her problem. If she was younger, she probably would've cared – would've done something. They seemed like decent men – or at least, the cop seemed like a decent guy. But she'd been too soft in her earlier years, too malleable, caring. That was mostly gone now.

Four more shots rang out before silence descended upon the forest again. The sun was beginning to set. She didn't have much time to find shelter for the night. Her eyes wandered upwards – a tree branch would suffice, if it was absolutely necessary, but her healing wound wouldn't take to that very well. Best to keep on moving.

Another hour passed when she decided to approach the road, see if anything stood out to her from there. The sun's rays were nearly swallowed up by the horizon, now – soon enough, it'd be too dark to travel.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out again, but closer. Much closer. Zora heard the rev of a car engine before she saw anything. Glancing over her shoulder, hand instinctively hovering over her gun, she watched as white headlights came into view, shining at her, blinding her eyes.

The car was coming _fast_. And there was another, right behind it.

Zora ducked out of the road, rolling onto the grass at the side. Groaning, she felt one of her stitches tear. A sharp jolt of pain went through her body – fucking hell, all that healing and now this. Sucking in a breath, she rolled into a crouch and had her weapon out, prepared to deal with whoever had come.

One of the cars had stopped in front of her. Heart surging to her throat, Zora immediately assumed the worse – Athol's men had found her. But then she assessed the situation. The car, a gray Honda, was _shielding_ her. And those silhouettes… they were familiar.

"Get out of the fuckin' bushes!" a familiar, raspy voice growled at her. The man with the cross bow. He'd stepped out of the car and crouched down, looking reading for a fight. Next to him was the cop, gun drawn. The other car had stopped too, and a tense silence descended over the road.

The fuck?

She had two options: turn back to the forest and run, which would be damn hard in her current condition, or accept the olive branch these men were apparently extending her and crawl towards them.

Zora considered herself a reasonable person, for the most part, so she understood that, in reality, she only had one option.

Keeping her head down, she joined the pair of men. "The fuck is going on?" she hissed at them.

"You tell us," the cop said. "They said they were looking for you."

Zora's stomach sank. So they had betrayed her – led Athol's men right to her?

"It's not like that," the cop said, reading her thoughts in her eyes, her tense posture. "They tried killing Daryl," he nodded to the crossbow guy. "Wanted our stuff."

Be logical about this, Zora. These were decent people. They were running from Athol's men, too. Breathing in, Zora nodded.

Finally, someone across the road hollered at them. "Come out, come out!" a man shouted in a sick, sing-song tone. "We ain't gonna bite! Just tell us where the girl is, and ya'll can go free."

The man, Daryl, glared at Zora.

She looked right back at him. "How many?" she hissed under her breath. Her ribs hurt too much for her to duck under the car and take a look.

"Three," Daryl said.

Zora nodded. "Good." She slowly edged her back up the car, peering into the side mirror to get a look at the other vehicle. It was a cherry-red pickup truck. The same one she and Jesus had encountered so many days ago. The one that belonged to Andrew.

"Ya'll gonna come out, or what?" the man said – that was Andrew. She should have recognized the voice sooner. "We can come on over and getcha. You're outnumbered."

Zora cleared her throat. "No, we aren't."

The pause that filled the air was heavy. Then, Andrew cackled with laughter. "My, my – looks like we don't have to look any further, boys! Zora came to us."

Glancing at the cop, reading the disgust on his face, Zora decided that she had to trust this pair for the moment. They were the only thing between her and Athol's men. She spoke to the cop, "Listen up. I'm going to step out. Tell them I'll hand myself over. When I do, you kill them." Smirking, she added, "They're not too sharp, so I don't expect they'll see it coming."

The cop nodded. He looked to Daryl. "Fine," the man scowled.

Putting her hands above her head, Zora called out. "Fine, Andrew. You can have me. These men don't have anything to do with the matter." She stood, and slowly started walking towards the bumper of the Honda. "I don't want any more trouble."

Andrew cackled again. "Trouble is all you gonna get when Athol gets his hands on you, girl."

Zora had been right – none of the men saw it coming. They weren't exactly Athol's finest.

As soon as she stepped into sight, all three diverged on her. Then two gunshots rang out and one silent rush of an arrow. All three men were dead at her feet in under three seconds.

Lowering her hands, she turned back to the pair of men, eyeing them warily. They each stared at one another for a moment, before Zora asked, "Why'd you do that? Shield me with your car?"

Surprisingly, it was the cross-bow wielding man who spoke. "Cuz those men were pieces of shit."

Zora laughed. Really laughed. "Yeah. They really were."

The cop glanced down at her shirt. "You're bleeding," he said, pointing out the blossoming red spot on her favorite fucking shirt.

"Shit." Zora pulled up the hem and glanced down at the damage she'd incurred on her wound. Two stitches had broken, frayed, letting some blood trickle out of the wound. It wasn't too bad though. Nothing dire.

She could feel the men studying her as she assessed herself. "Those men do that to you?" the cop finally asked.

Zora looked him in the eye. He wasn't pleased.

How was she fortunate enough to come across two decent groups of people within two weeks? First Jesus, and now these two? She'd never had such good luck in her life. She hardly trusted it.

"Yes," she answered in a clipped tone.

The cop nodded. "And you're alone?"

Hesitation. "Yes," she said again.

"How many walkers you kill?"

"You serious, Rick?" the man named Daryl suddenly spat out, before Zora could process the question. "She's a wanted woman. This ain't the time."

The cop gave Daryl a stifling look. Resettling his gaze on Zora, he asked again: "How many walkers you kill?"

Zora glanced between the pair. She assumed 'walkers' was their term for the dead. "Too many to count," she said, wary.

"And how many people?"

Zora tensed at this. Both men noticed it.

"Toldja," Daryl said. "She ain't worth it."

Rick stared her down – God, he looked so much like a cop right now that she couldn't believe she missed it earlier. "Just answer the question."

Zora glared at him. "I don't need to answer a question like that."

"So a few, then?"

She snorted. Grabbing her pack off the ground, she began to walk away.

"Hold up," the cop said. "You're alone, you're injured, and it's dark out. So just answer my god damn question so we can help you."

Halting, her back to him, Zora growled. "Too many to count," she said again.

Dead silence hung over them. She could feel their stares, their judgement. No one understood. And she wasn't about to justify it, to make it better for them. They'd understand if she told them, maybe, but she wasn't going to. No one needed to know.

But finally: "You're a soldier." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. A fact.

Zora turned around, eyes hard. "What gives you that impression?"

The cop, Rick, shrugged. "You got a way about you."

He was just a little off, but not far. Zora could run with that. She could pretend to be a soldier.

When she didn't say anything to contradict him, Rick nodded. "That why you've killed so many people."

She bit her lip. Lying never made her feel bad, but for some reason, it felt wrong to impersonate a soldier. "Yeah," she finally said, committing anyway.

Rick looked to Daryl. "You still think she's all bad?"

Daryl seemed skeptical now. He shifted on his feet and looked Zora up and down. She could feel his gaze on her as if he were touching her. "Why you gotta bounty on your head, then?" he asked.

Zora sighed. "Honestly, I don't even know. Probably because I got away."

"Got away from who?"

"A sick bastard," she replied. "Athol. He… he kidnaps people. Sells them as slaves."

Rick and Daryl exchanged another glance. Disgust was written all over Rick's face, and Zora could tell it was genuine. He looked to her again, catching her green gaze on him, before offering, "We'll take you back with us for the night. We've got a place. It's safe."

Her options were slim. She was injured, weak, tired, and hungry. Zora was a hell of a fighter, but she had to admit – she was in bad shape. Biting her cheek hard, she nodded. "I would appreciate that."

* * *

She stared at the radio, contemplating turning it on. It had been two weeks, after all. Had he returned safely to Hilltop? He could've encountered Athol's men on the way. Jesus had fight in him – she could tell. Vicious, shrewd fight. They'd want him.

Frowning, Zora was lying in a bed – a fucking bed, with clean sheets and fluffy pillows and the lot – in the middle of this perfect little town that Rick and Daryl had taken her to. It was morning, the day after the shootout with Athol's men. Rick would be around soon enough to take her to the church, where he said they held group meetings. He wanted her to stay with them, but he needed the group's opinion first. They needed to see her.

Zora was uncertain. She hadn't gone back with Jesus for a reason – she tried to steer clear of people, ever since she was caught. The group she'd been running with… they'd sold information on her to Athol's men, she had found out. To spare themselves. And that was fine and all – survival was the pinnacle of the new world, wasn't it? – but it still stung. It still left its mark.

And it made Zora afraid. Because the kind of people who survived in this new world – they were like her. And that wasn't a good thing.

A knock at the bedroom door told her Rick had finally come. She was dressed and ready, wearing new clothes he had offered her while her own would get washed. She still had her tactical vest on, though – she'd never part with it, not for a second. It made people wary of her, and she preferred that.

"Hey," she said, opening the door.

Rick smiled at her. "Feeling okay?"

"I feel…" Zora thought about it for a moment. "Secure. Well, as secure as one can feel, now."

His smile brightened. "Glad to hear it. Ready to go?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

He led her outside, through the perfect little town. It was eerie, being in here. The place looked so… Normal. As if the outbreak had never occurred, as if she were on a weekend trip and would return to Control any day now…

Alexandria, Rick said it was called. An eerie name, to her. Like it wanted to give off a sense of interminable safety. But that didn't exist. It never had.

"We're here."

Zora could see that. There was the church, sitting in the middle of the small town, tiny and white with a cross shining on the roof. "How quaint," she commented dryly, mostly to herself. She could have sworn Rick chuckled.

As soon as the pair entered, all eyes turned to them. Zora was used to being a background player, a shadow. A ghost. With so many eyes on her, she felt exposed. Vulnerable. Immediately, she tensed up, just barely refraining from resting a hand on one of her daggers. These people needed to like her, right? She needed a place to stay while she healed.

She should have taken up Jesus's offer in the first place.

"Everyone," Rick said, leading Zora up to the podium at the front. He gestured towards Zora, who ensured she kept her hands nonthreateningly at her sides. "This is Zora. She needs a place to stay for a while."

As if she were seeking out a familiar, comforting face, Zora's eyes landed on Daryl. Not exactly comforting. He sat at the very back of the church, crouched atop a pew in an overtly sacrilegious manner, eyes boring holes into her. When their gazes met, he didn't look away.

Damn, he was a mean one. Obstinate.

But she didn't shy away from his hard eyes. Instead, she let her gaze linger on him a few moments, rove over his body – those arms were impressively toned – before looking away. Zora would not let him cow her. No one could do that.

Except maybe Athol.

Suddenly, Zora realized the silence in the room, the stares all focused on her, expectant. Waiting? For what?

Rick turned to her and cleared his throat. "Wanna tell us about yourself?"

Zora clenched her jaw. She knew he wasn't doing this to be cruel. He had already explained why it was necessary.

She turned back to the group. He'd mentioned that they had over 50 people in the town, but only about twenty sat before her. She glanced at each of them before starting.

"I'm Zora," she repeated, keeping her tone steady, neither friendly nor rude. She didn't do friendly very well. "I… was a soldier, before. Rick and Daryl found me on the side of the road." She glanced down at her torso, which Rick had bandaged her up the night before. "I've sustained a few injuries, so I need a place to heal up for a bit. I won't cause you any trouble."

God, even to her own voice, that sounded… robotic. Zora wasn't good at addressing crowds. Not unless they were like her, not unless they were going on an op. When she was taking charge… not pleading for help.

A man in front, Asian, spoke up. Like everyone else, he looked suspicious of her. "What happened to you? Rick only mentioned what happened yesterday."

Zora sighed. She glanced at Rick, who nodded at her to speak. "I was kidnapped. There's a man east of here who captures people – mostly small groups of travelers – and sells then. I got hurt getting away from them."

Murmurs arose. People were afraid at this. Wondered if Athol posed a threat. In truth, she didn't think he would come after such a large group. He wasn't desperate enough.

A red-haired man, surprising in his muscle mass, his tone, squinted at her. "Soldier? Which branch?"

Zora hadn't thought that far ahead. "Army," she said, the first one that came to mind.

The man nodded at her. That's when she realized it – he was a "fellow" soldier. "Damn fine choice," he told her. He was army, too, and proud of it. She could tell she already had his vote by sheer association with his branch of the military. False association.

A woman with silver, short hair and crossed arms spoke up next. "If you're army, what're you doing here in Georgia? Alone?"

Zora glanced at her feet. Alone. She _was_ alone. Her whole team… they were –

Best not to go down that train of thought. Evidently, the entire room could read that off her face, too. The woman cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean- "

"It's fine," Zora reassured, offering a small smile. "I understand. I'm actually from D.C. My family… they lived in Atlanta. I went for them, as soon as I heard… but I couldn't find them."

The woman nodded. She was a mother – Zora could tell. It was in the eyes. Tough yet soft. She liked that. "Sometimes no news is good news," she tried to reassure.

Zora could see people were becoming less wary of her, but she had to be more relatable. It was tough for her, being away from people for so long… from good people… but she needed the help. And they _were_ good people. "Listen," she finally said, tone becoming frank, open. "I understand if you're all wary of me – I'm new. A stranger. I get that… I had a group sell me out to the man who kidnapped me, so trusting people isn't really what I'm good at. But I swear to you," she said, looking everyone sternly in the eye, "I'm not a threat. If you can help me heal, I can be valuable. I'm highly trained. I've survived long enough on my own because of that. I can train your people, too."

That seemed to lighten the air. Some people looked at her with raised brows, thoughtful eyes.

Rick stepped up. "Ya'll okay with that?"

A black man, sitting near Daryl with a long stick in his hands, asked, "Are you, Rick?"

"Yes," Rick said, looking at Zora. "Yeah, I am."

And that was how Zora became the newest temporary addition of the eerie place named Alexandria.

* * *

"You look like shit."

Zora snorted. Daryl had such a way with words, which was to say – when he rarely ever used them, they were always rude.

"Not as shitty as you," Zora bit back petulantly, sending him a glare. But she didn't mean it, and she knew he could tell. The pair didn't exactly get along, but they didn't exactly _not_ get along either. She'd only known him for less than a week, but Zora felt like Daryl was one of the few people who immediately understood her.

Especially because he had warned Rick not to bring her here. He'd sensed something was off about her, and in some twisted way, Zora could appreciate that. Smart man.

"What do you want?" She finally asked, squinting up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. She had been sitting in the grass near the armory, sharpening every single knife in the town. No one here could do it properly, except for maybe Abraham, but he didn't seem to care. She took the burden upon herself – a sharp knife was valuable, nowadays.

"Goin' out to check the perimeter. Figured you'd want some time on yer feet."

Well that was… oddly thoughtful of him.

"Really?"

Daryl huffed. "Forget it."

He began to walk away when Zora called out. "No! I'll go. I just need to put these knives back in the armory."

Turning back to her, he nodded. Maybe he wasn't really going to walk away after all… Zora couldn't tell. He was a hard man to read. Tougher than Jesus, and that was saying something.

God, why couldn't she stop thinking about Jesus? Just for one day?

Helping her to her feet with a rough hand, Daryl collected all the knives on the ground, careful to keep away from their edges, and placed them back in the box Zora had used. She was surprised he was being so… helpful. Zora had the sense that maybe he wanted something from her.

He hefted the box up in his arms and walked it back to the armory before meeting up with her again. The pair took off towards the forest, an area where there was a bit of a doorway in the fence, to get in and out.

Once in the forest, Zora glanced around, feeling… lighter, for the first time in a while. It was nice, having someone to watch her back. Being able to enjoy the simple pleasure of nature once again, without fearing for her life from the dead or the living.

But that contentedness would only last so long. She had known that before they even left. Daryl wanted something from her. It took them a half hour of walking about, killing a few 'walkers' here and there, before he finally let on as to what.

"You ain't army," he finally said, a bit offhandedly, after dispatching a walker that had been missing half its jaw. His eyes turned to Zora, who had stood behind him and froze at his words. They were dark, stormy… unreadable.

Her heart began to race. Maybe Daryl wasn't such a good guy. Maybe he knew she was a liar and brought her out here to kill her.

She looked him up and down, taking account of the weapons he had – the crossbow, of course, a series of hunting knives, a gun – while shifting her own weapon, the Glock, into her hand. But she kept it at her side.

He still noticed. "Relax, woman," he said, eyeing her warily. "I ain't gon' shoot you."

"Seems that way," Zora said, tone harsh.

"Nah," he said, gruff. "I just wanna know why you're lyin'. Rick don't know it, but I sure as hell do."

"I'm not lying," Zora maintained. "I'm a soldier. I've got the training to prove it."

"Yea, you got the training, alright," Daryl commented a bit sarcastically. He shifted, his crossbow still pointing at the forest floor, but scowled at her. Or maybe that was just his usual expression. She couldn't tell. "But I don't think it's training for the goddamn army."

"How the fuck would you know?"

He shrugged. "Had a cousin in the army. Didn't know half the shit you do."

"He probably wasn't my rank."

"Which is?"

"Captain," she said easily. The best lie had a hint of the truth.

"Mm," Daryl grunted, skeptical. "Real question is – captain of what?"

Zora was absolutely frozen in place. Had someone told her two days ago that Daryl Dixon, of all people, would be the one to root out her lie within less than a week, she would have laughed herself silly. But this man was smart. Really smart. She would never underestimate him again.

As much as it was a huge problem right now, her respect for him increased tenfold.

"Why do you even care?" Zora asked, trying to draw them away from the topic. If he wasn't going to kill her, then what did he want with her? The truth? So he could go and tell Rick and get her kicked out of Alexandria?

Daryl grunted again, shuffled his feet and looked down. Finally, he met her sharp gaze, his eyes holding a threat in them. "I don't. But I'm jus' lettin' ya know – you do anything to hurt these people, 'n you'll have me to answer to."

So he wasn't going to rat her out?

"Noted."

They continued their trek through the forest in tense silence. Zora kept glancing at Daryl, who stayed right beside her, likely so they would both be comfortable having one another in sight. Things just got harder. She knew she didn't really have an ally in Daryl, but she hadn't expected him to be the enemy.

* * *

 _Three weeks later_.

Daryl kept a close eye on Zora. Nearly all the time. Whenever she was out and about in the town, showing someone how to shoot something, how to cut something down with a sword, he was always there – dark eyes on her.

It made her stomach flip. For two reasons, really. One, she was ashamed of – fear. The other, she was confused by. Daryl… she didn't know him, hardly at all, but she respected him. A lot. Three and a half weeks gave her a lot of time to see him in action – helping every place he could, even with the baby – there was a fucking baby here! But he was always helping someone. Or going on supply runs to help someone.

There was something inherently good about him. It took her a week to realize that he growled and huffed at everyone to maintain his distance, to seem detached and cool and uncaring. But that man had a big heart. And even though he was suspicious of her… she liked that about him.

Zora was polishing a few things in the armory when she heard yelling. Glancing around, she didn't see Daryl anywhere in sight – must've run off to the commotion.

The yelling got louder. She heard Rick cut in – something was going down. Zora grabbed a hunting knife and half ran, half limped in the direction of the voices.

When she arrived at the scene, it was readily apparent what had gone wrong.

There were walkers at the gate. Dozens of them – maybe a hundred. Not the largest horde Zora had seen, but a problem. But what had drawn them in…?

Stepping into the crowd of people, hearing the concerned shouts, the call for weapons, Zora frowned. The horde was slow. There was a window of opportunity, and it was closing fast. If someone could just keep a few of them distracted… Zora had done this before. Many times.

Rushing forward, Zora snagged the machete clear out of Tara's hands, who'd been standing beside Rick, assessing the situation. The other woman shouted in response, but Zora didn't hear her. She just saw the window, getting smaller and smaller… And these people, they'd sheltered her and fed her and healed her. This looked like trouble to them, but she could handle it. She was in bad shape, sure, but she'd had worse.

Someone shouted Zora's name when they realized what she was doing. It sounded a lot like Daryl, but she couldn't be sure. Didn't really care. She dragged the gate open, ignoring the dull ache in her abdomen, and yelled over her shoulder for someone to close it.

Then she rushed the horde.

Zora had done this before – with the living, the dead… both sides of the coin. The living was always harder, in her opinion, if they were embittered enough, determined enough. And if they were trained – sometimes it seemed like a suicide mission.

But these were walkers. Hungry, slow… dead. She could handle them. The stitch in her side would slow her down, but that was it – just slow her down.

Darting up to the first, Zora slashed the machete clear through its head. She didn't even bother to watch it tumble before turning towards the next, and the next, cutting through the mob, puncturing skulls and brains and leaving a trail of bodies in her wake. It was exhilarating. Her blood was _singing_ – she didn't even register the blood spattering on her face, her freshly washed clothes. Being in the midst of battle – whatever battle this could be called – it was a dance. Music and art.

Zora was an artist.

Someone kept yelling behind her, but she paid them no mind. A hand reached out and grabbed her arm after she'd slashed down another walker – at least thirty were laying in the street now – and Zora whipped around to kill the monster.

But it wasn't a monster. It was Daryl, looking _pissed_ , shooting off his crossbow and yelling at her to return to the gate.

Zora shook off his hand and continued the systematic slaying.

While she was working through the horde, Daryl remaining at her side, helping her, watching her back, she couldn't have noticed all the others lined up at the gate, silent in their awe. Even Rick was slack-jawed, staring at the woman's grace, her fluidity, the hundreds of hours of practice that must have gone into her training. She was ruthless. Efficient. _Cold_.

And she had cleared off most of the walkers. When there was about twenty remaining, he called to Glenn, Sasha, and Abraham. They were going to go out and help clear off the rest. What would have been a crisis – having a hundred walkers at their door – had just merely… dissolved.

Meanwhile, Zora was panting, cringing in pain as she felt her wound reopen – again, goddamnit – her arms tiring from swinging the machete. Daryl said something to her that she completely missed; her mind just wasn't in it. Finally, he grabbed her and yanked her against him, pulling her body flush with his, and shouted in her face, "I said, we're headin' back right now, woman! Ya hear me? The others will get the rest!"

In her state, Zora couldn't understand what Daryl was so pissed about. Didn't she just prove to him that she cared about his group? That she was valuable, could protect them?

He seemed to notice she was lost in thought, so he grabbed her roughly by the arms and dragged her away, back towards the gate. Tara shoved it open for them to stumble through. Tossing her to the ground in a decidedly _not_ gentle way, Daryl seethed down at Zora.

"The fuck were you thinking?"

Zora, one hand braced behind her on the grass and the other holding fast to her reopened wound, stared up at him in disbelief. "I was thinking I could help!" She struggled to her feet. No one helped her, feeling the anger radiating from her body, the danger that she was. Stepping up close to Daryl, she poked him hard in the chest. "And I did! So what the hell is your problem?"

They stood there, amongst the crowd of Alexandrians, fuming at one another, nostrils flaring. Rick and the others returned, having dispatched the remaining walkers. For a moment, Zora was fearful that Daryl would rat her out then and there – tell everyone that she wasn't who she was claiming to be. What would she do, then?

Rick approached the seething pair, his steps measured and careful, realizing the argument taking place. "Hey," he said, stepping between the two. He placed his hands out, backing them away from one another. "Problem's been solved, all right? No need to fight about it."

"Tell that to Daryl," Zora snarled. She turned heel and walked away – limped away, due to the searing pain in her belly. Fuck. She'd have to see the doctor.

* * *

Alexandria's doctor, who wasn't necessarily a doctor at all, was shy and kind. Had the world not gone to shit and Denise actually pursued a medical degree, she would've had the best bedside manner in the state.

"You really shouldn't be moving around so much," Denise scolded Zora lightly, prodding around the knife wound with cold hands. She stared down at the blood, the redness and the bruising with a critical eye and a frown. "I heard you fought off a horde of walkers today." She looked up and met Zora's bright eyes, her own kind in return. "In your condition… that's a miracle, I'd say."

Zora smiled. It was nice having someone unassuming around. Someone normal. Kind. "I'm military," Zora merely said, sticking with her cover story. "We're trained for that, I guess. Nonstop training." That much was true.

"Still," Denise said, putting some gauze over the re-stitched wound, "it's impressive."

Zora frowned down at her hands – the scars that dotted them. No one had asked her about them here, and for that, she was grateful. Not even Daryl, who she often caught staring at them, before he'd shyly turn away. Denise, though – she had already prodded Zora on the scars. Because, as she had noted, "Half of them are fresh, half of them are pretty old. Like, pre-outbreak old."

Zora asked the woman to keep that between themselves. And Denise was good like that – she wouldn't tell anyone something that wasn't hers to tell. But she caught Zora staring down at them, as she occasionally would do, and asked quietly, "You wanna talk about it?"

Zora gave the woman a tight smile. "Some things are best not talked about." Then she hopped off the examination table – not a good idea, since pain shot through her belly – and flashed the doc an actual smile. "Thanks for your help, Denise."

"Anytime," Denise replied, watching the woman go worriedly. "Just – try not to fight another horde of walkers anytime soon, okay? That wound isn't healing because you aren't letting it."

* * *

Four weeks had passed, and still Zora thought of him. It was stupid. She had known him for a total of two days, barely even that, and now what? She had a crush, like a fucking teenager in high school? She continuously tried to justify to herself that it wasn't a crush – the man had just helped her out, and in return, she was hoping he was safe.

But Zora was a goddamn liar, even to herself.

It was around midnight. She was curled up on her bed in the house next to Rick, Daryl, and Michonne – she was sharing with Carol, for the time being. The radio was on her lap. All she had to do was turn it on. Something told Zora that Jesus probably always kept his on – and likely had a healthy stash of batteries, too. She should pilfer some. But all she had to do was turn it on… say something. Just to know she hadn't gotten him killed, hadn't set Athol on his trail.

Sucking in a deep breath, Zora twisted the knob on the radio. A green light appeared in the corner. Hesitating another moment, she finally pressed down on the button.

"Hello?"

Zora figured she'd have to wait a few minutes, maybe try again after five had passed. But only thirty seconds transpired until another voice responded to her.

"Zora? Are you hurt?"

Zora felt… oddly warm at his concern, his immediate reply. At the sound of his voice – soft yet firm, commanding. It was strange. Zora shouldn't be feeding her silly emotions. She needed to shut them down. She just wanted to check in on him – that was it. "No," she was quick to reply. "I'm actually just making sure you aren't hurt."

There was a long pause. She shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have turned the radio on. What was she thinking? Of course he wasn't hurt. He was strong. Like her. "I'm fine. Been at Hilltop for a while." Another pause, a screech of interference as Jesus thought. Then he added, "You finally going to join me?"

"Nope," Zora said, a smile on her lips. It was sweet that he continued to ask. But the smile quickly vanished. For some reason, it felt… wrong, being here in Alexandria, after she had turned down refuge at Hilltop. It felt duplicitous. But fuck that. Zora couldn't afford to feel guilty, could she?

Well… could she?

Fuck. This was messing with her head too much. Quickly, she radioed, "I've actually gotta go. Later."

"Wait – "

But she had already turned the dial, switching the radio off. Huffing out a long breath, Zora tossed the radio on the pillow and threw her head back against the mattress.

This new world was supposed to be about survival. Her world had only ever been about survival. Nothing else.

* * *

"You healing up okay?" Rick asked, crouching down beside Zora, watching as she expertly refilled bullets with the gunpowder Eugene had found. He watched her meticulous task for a moment, interested in the speed of her hands – her terrible, scarred hands – and the focus she put into the work.

After finishing a row of bullets, Zora nodded. "Healing just fine, thanks for asking." She turned her sharp gaze on him. "Why're you asking?"

A sigh pushed from Rick's mouth. He looked up, out over the town, the people… his people, before canting his head back to Zora. "You put yourself in a lot of danger the other day. With that horde."

Zora pressed her lips together. "It was a calculated risk. I calculated that there was very little, in fact. No one got hurt. The problem was solved."

"You should have spoken to me first."

"There was a small window of opportunity and it was closing."

Irritated, Rick bit out, "That doesn't make it any better!"

Zora tensed at his outburst. She frowned up at him, hands planted at her sides, ready to shove to her feet if need be.

Rick wasn't oblivious. "I'm sorry – we just, we don't like to lose people here."

Zora pondered this a moment. "I'm new," she said, matter-of-factly. "Wouldn't be much of a loss."

"That's not true," Rick scolded. "If you're in, you're in. That's what you accepted when you stayed. You're part of this group.

That unsettled Zora. "I'm a temporary visitor. I'll repay all your kindnesses – tenfold if I have to – but Rick… I'm not a permanent resident."

A baffled expression fell over his features. "Why not?"

This was always a tough conversation. "I'm no good to be around for too long. I'll have to leave this place soon, Rick. It'll be better for it."

"I disagree."

God, this was starting to sound a lot like what Jesus was saying when he tried to get her to join Hilltop.

"You can disagree all you want," Zora said. "Doesn't change the way things are."

* * *

"Hey."

Daryl's low voice barked at Zora as she walked the perimeter of the houses, the moonlight ghosting over her pale skin as night settled over the small town. As soon as she heard him approach, she scowled. She and Rick had already gone at it earlier in the day – Daryl was the last person she wanted to deal with right now.

Instead of acknowledging him, Zora kept walking the perimeter. She didn't have many responsibilities at Alexandria right now, but the group at least trusted her in the armory and with keeping an eye on the interior perimeter during some evenings.

"I said _hey_. I'm talkin' to you." His voice, gruff and angry, was closer now.

Zora blinked in surprise. He was a quick one.

When she had yet to make any reply, a rough, warm hand landed on her bicep, yanking her around. Zora's fierce green eyes met Daryl's pale blues. Oh yeah – he was pissed. But wasn't he always?

"You hearin' me?" he spat, looking her up and down.

"I heard you fine," Zora said, pulling her arm from his grip. "What do you want?"

Daryl shifted, his shoulders pulled back tautly, angled with irritation. "Whoever put you on night shift clearly don't know how stupid you are," he growled, gesturing around them. "You'd march headlong into a herd of walkers, all by your fucking self again!"

Zora groaned. "This again? Let it go, Dixon. I did your group a favor."

" _Our_ group," he corrected her sharply. God, what had crawled up his ass? Why did he look so angry at the world? Jabbing a finger in the direction of the houses, Daryl came face to face with Zora. "That's _our_ group out there. You coulda gotten one a' them killed, pullin' that little stunt of yours."

Our group? No. Clearly, people had grown more territorial in this new world – the whole _us_ and _them_. But Zora wasn't part of this group – at least, she didn't consider herself to be. She was a loner, a temporary visitor, doing what she could to repay them for their help before she was on her way again.

But clearly, by Rick's speech earlier and now Daryl's hissy fit, these people didn't see it like that. In some way, it reminded her of Athol. Someone trying to get a hold of her, keep her in place. In line.

Zora canted her head, nearly coming nose to nose with Daryl. "That's not _our_ group," she hissed at him. "I'm not part of all this. I'm _free_ now, you hear me? No one's getting a hold on me again. Not again."

That hit Daryl like a slap in the face. His expression scrunched, the anger morphing into confusion at her words. "Fuck you talking 'bout? We ain't tryna own you, woman. We're tryna keep you _safe_."

Zora stepped away from him, utterly taken aback. She blinked several times. Daryl… was on board with keeping her safe? He was mad… because he was trying to keep her safe? What happened to the Daryl that said she'd have to answer to him, should anything happen to the group?

"What?" was all she could manage to ask.

Now he looked uncomfortable. He didn't look her in the eye. "Tryna keep you alive, Zora. Your valuable here… but you ain't no slave."

"What happened to the man who cornered me several weeks ago and threatened my life?" she asked, finding her voice.

Daryl glanced up at her. "I saw that you ain't no threat."

When she just stared at him and didn't say anything, Daryl shook his head. He opened his mouth, like he would add something else, but snapped it right back shut. Suddenly, he turned heel and marched away from her, back towards town, his entire posture rigid.

Zora stared after him, dumbfounded. What just happened? Had Daryl Dixon… tried being nice to her?

* * *

Alexandria had intricate group dynamics, lying just below the veneer of civility and calm the town tried to exude. Zora sensed tension. The air was rife with it, thick, almost all the time… churning. As if the dead outside the walls weren't giving them trouble enough, but that there was always something brewing within.

Little by little, as she interacted with the town's inhabitants, Zora began to realize the instability. Deana, the woman who was something of a leader of the town, was… broken. In a pure state of denial, having never been outside the walls. She thought Alexandria was the end all be all, a safe haven from the outbreak. But Zora knew better. She'd seen other places like Alexandria before.

It was never the dead that were the problem. It was _always_ the living.

But Deana meant well. She wanted to hold the group together, apparently forge ties between the cleavage in the town. Evidently, Rick's group hadn't been here too long. Long enough for him to murder someone, apparently… but that was a different story. And she didn't care. Having heard enough about that tale, Zora had shrugged it off. She'd killed far more nefarious people in her lifetime than a man beating on his wife and kids. Sounded like he had it coming.

Deana's people – that was where the real trouble lied. They were weak. Not literally weak – metaphorically. They weren't fighters like Rick and Michonne, Glenn and Maggie. They weren't survivors. But Zora thought maybe they could be.

She led some classes, here and there, on self-defense, on how to take down a walker efficiently. Rosita, a far more personable woman than Zora, had taken over, much to Zora's relief. Rosita wasn't necessarily impatient, but she was tough, and certainly had a softer demeanor than Zora. Zora had never been a teacher, not in any form. She wouldn't be one now.

As she began to heal more and more, and was essentially back to full health, Rick began entrusting larger responsibilities to her. Supply runs, night watches, the like. And although Zora was waiting for the window of opportunity that took her away from Alexandria, she found herself… almost happy.

There was a purpose to her life again. A routine, a schedule, people who needed her and knew her and just fucking _spoke_ to her. She wasn't on her own.

But she still wasn't convinced she should stay. Ultimately, Zora posed the biggest danger to this group within these walls. Athol still wanted her – she was sure of it. And Athol… he'd tear through these people. Athol was the haunting specter, always hovering at the back of her mind, making the hair on her arms stand on end.

Athol… he could burn this place down.

* * *

 **A/N: So Zora/Daryl interaction is very different than Zora/Jesus interaction. Thoughts?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I've had midterms, so I haven't seen the new episode yet. Thought I would at least post this until then!**

 **Trigger warning: mentions of torture**

* * *

 **Three**

It was always easy to know when something was going down in Alexandria, because of all the yelling. Panic overtook the residents within seconds, and the chaos spread like wildfire.

Fortunately, though, nothing seemed to be life and death this time around.

Stepping out into the sunlight, towards the gate, Zora watched as Daryl shoved Rick away from him, nearly sending the cop sprawling on his ass. "I said back off, man!" Daryl yelled, glaring at those surrounding him. "I don't give a shit what you say. There's someone out there, and I'm gonna find out who."

"Well you're sure as hell not going alone," Rick bit back, placing his hands on his belt. "And we can't afford to spend time looking around for someone who may or may not still be around."

"The fuck else are we supposed to do?" Daryl tossed his hands up, his crossbow bouncing on his shoulders. "I ain't gon' sit around and wait for him to bring some of his friends back on to us!"

"What's going on?" Zora asked, breaking up the fight, placing herself firmly between the two men. No one else seemed to want to get involved whenever Rick was a perpetrator, and she could understand why. The ex-cop was fucking intimidating. But she was virtually back to full health now. If it came down to it, she could restrain one of them.

Daryl's wild eyes glared at Zora. "I passed some stranger out there when I was huntin' earlier this mornin', and I intend to find out who the hell he is, that's what!"

Zora glanced at Rick. "A stranger?" She turned back to Daryl. "On his own?"

"That's fuckin' right," he told Zora. "And it didn't look like he was set up to camp, either. A goddamn spy, I'm tellin' ya."

"You don't know that," Rick cut in. Zora could feel his presence behind her, firm, authoritative. "And I'm not gonna send you out there, and risk _your_ life, just to prove it!"

"I ain't askin'!"

"Hey!" Zora raised her voice again. "Fuck, calm down." She gave each man a sturdy look, before fixing her fierce eyes to Rick. "I think Daryl's right about this." Surprise silenced whatever Rick was about to say. At Zora's other side, Daryl's mouth almost dropped open.

"You do?" Rick asked, genuinely taken off guard.

Zora nodded. "Yeah." She eyed their spectators, some of them women and children who she had no right putting the fear of God into just now, so she said, quieter, "And I think we should go somewhere to talk about it, okay?"

Rick got the gist. He nodded after looking around. "Fine. Let's go back to the house."

He headed straight off, leaving Zora and Daryl behind as the rest of the crowd began to disperse.

Daryl narrowed his pale blue eyes at her. "Why're you doing that?"

"Doing what?" Zora asked, rhetorically, before marching past him. He stared after her for several moments before following.

* * *

"The man who took me," Zora began, her hands resting atop the dining room table in Rick's house. "He employs spies. Scouts. When his… _resources_ … deplete, he sends people out to get more."

"And by resources," Michonne spoke up, jaw ticked, "you mean people."

"Yes."

Rick was running an exasperated hand through his slick hair. "You really think they'd come this far out? We've gotta be… some thirty miles away, I reckon."

Zora looked down at her hands. The scars. "They would. They've gone out further, sometimes. When they're really desperate."

"And how do you know all that?"

Zora couldn't really blame Rick for asking. She _did_ know an awful lot about Athol's operation to make her seem suspicious. He was just doing his due diligence – this she trusted, because Rick had started to turn to her, now and again, for advice. He trusted her. Liked her.

Still staring down at the backs of her hands, Zora pinched her lips together. "It took me awhile to escape." Her tone was clipped, short… cold. She needed to distance herself from the memories. They were dark, and honestly, thinking about them made her sick. "I had time to observe their operations, their habits. I think Athol realized this – that's why he took me off the market." She cleared her throat, glancing up to see confused faces. "The slave market," she clarified. "Or his other one… the livestock market. He wanted me for himself. Protect the camp, get more people… He tried making me one of them."

Angling herself towards Rick again, she said firmly, "So yeah, that might be one of his guys. Sure, it could _not_ be, but honestly, it's too big of a risk to overlook. Especially if they see me." She stared at him, almost implored him to understand her. "That's why I told you… I shouldn't stay here. I'll put you all in danger."

Rick shook his head. "You've done a lot here, Zora. We aren't just sendin' you away. You understand that? We face things together."

"He's right," Daryl spoke up finally, his gaze hard on the table. "Ain't nobody takin' one of our own." And he looked right at her then, as if to emphasize: she was one of their own.

It almost made her squirm. Daryl, he was… ugh. Between Jesus and Daryl, Zora was losing her mind.

Rather than argue that point for the hundredth time, Zora merely rested her hands flat against the table top. "We need to go out there. See if that guy's around. If anyone else is around."

The other two in the room – Michonne and Daryl – waited for Rick to speak, for approval. The former sheriff stared off into the corner for several long moments, face grim, tired. He clenched his fists together, before glancing off at Zora's hands. What he saw obviously sickened him. It sickened most people, honestly – the evidence of torture. Couldn't ignore it when it was right in your face. Couldn't turn a blind eye.

"Okay," he nodded. "We'll go out. Look around."

* * *

Michonne stayed behind. She was smart, strategic – should anything happen in Alexandria during their absences, Rick felt comfortable in Michonne's ability to handle it. Zora seconded that notion. Michonne was a tough motherfucker.

She rode shotgun while Rick drove, having claimed the seat over Daryl like a teenager. She'd grinned at him at the time – Daryl was easy to rile up – before returning to her serious demeanor. Being in Alexandria had loosened Zora up a bit, and that made her uncomfortable. The hard exterior she showed to everyone else was what had kept her alive thus far. She couldn't let it fade.

"Turn here," Daryl said, his gravelly voice slinking up Zora's spine. She bit her cheek, brows furrowed so hard she was giving herself a headache. Honestly, when did she become such a fucking sap?

They drove another fifteen minutes before Daryl called for them to stop, at the edge of a field that soon turned back into sprawling Georgia forest. This was where he'd lost the man earlier that day.

Leaving the car behind didn't sit well with Zora. It was like leaving breadcrumbs for someone to follow, evidence of their arrival, a place for someone to stake out for their departure. But it had to be done.

Slamming the car door behind her, Zora slung her sword over her back and fidgeted the gun in her holster. She was feeling healthy, strong. It was nice to feel this way again.

The day was going to be a long one, if Daryl's snarly attitude was any indication. He barked orders at Zora and Rick: turn here, go that way, stay quiet. The pair trailing behind him didn't question him on the matter, nor did they doubt his judgement. Zora was seeing firsthand what an incredible tracker Daryl was. He could see things invisible to her eyes: broken twigs, hanging loosely from their branches at arm-level, disturbances in the forest floor, thrashed bushes, scrapes on bark. Zora had never questioned the man's talent for perception, but this… this made her nervous. _This_ was how he had known she wasn't army.

Again, she felt her respect for him surge.

They walked for the better part of two hours, Zora trailing quietly behind Daryl, Rick on her six. Unfortunately, that meant that Zora had two hours to notice the lean, toned muscles of Daryl's arms, the swagger he walked with, the confidence he exuded.

Honestly, she wanted to halt their trek, walk over to the nearest tree, and bash her head against it. Zora Haque was not a romantic. She was not sappy, she didn't think about crushes and men and how she wanted to grow old with someone. That just wasn't her. So why did she find two men always inhabiting her thoughts, now? Fuck, it was irritating.

"Hold up," Daryl murmured, crouching to the ground.

Zora and Rick paused, sharing a look, while they watched Daryl work. His palm ghosted over the ground, a slight smudge in the dirt – a footprint. A large one, too.

Glancing up to her, pale eyes bright and alert, Daryl held a finger to his lips, telling her and Rick to remain quiet.

Someone was near.

They crept forward cautiously, eyes scanning the forest for any sign of life. Zora pulled her gun from her holster and held it at ready. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, the way it used to during ops. Just like in training: _One breath in, another out, breathe through the nose, be calm_ –

A shot rang out from their left, close enough to ring through Zora's ears. Beside her, Rick stumbled and fell, crying out as he did. Everything after that happened too quickly – Zora rushed to Rick's side and assessed him for wounds, while Daryl took up position behind her, covering her from further gunfire, his finger on the trigger of his crossbow. After Zora had determined Rick had merely been grazed by a bullet, she turned in her crouch towards Daryl, placing a hand on his arm.

Footsteps crunched through the forest in front of them, coming slowly closer. The canopy was thick here, shading them from the sun and casting the immediate environment in sporadic shadows. The head of a rifle emerged from a shadow first, followed by a man.

"Stay right there," he told the trio, eyeing them sharply. "Move and next shot will be to kill."

"I'm thinkin' you're outnumbered," Daryl told the man, crossbow still held at ready. "Think you can overpower three people?"

"I think I don't have to," he said, looking right at Zora. Her stomach twisted at the lewd stare. She didn't know him, but she knew he had to be one of Athol's. "I think," the man started again, confidence building in his tone as recognition flashed in his eyes, "that you'll just hand the girl over and be on your merry way. I don't mean you no harm."

Zora's grip on Daryl's arm tightened. His jaw ticked. He stepped towards the man, a single measured step, and growled, "That's not how this is gonna go down."

"It is if you wanna live through this day."

Rick stepped to his feet beside Zora, moving to stand in front of her. "I think the one who needs to worry 'bout surviving right now is you, friend. Why don't you lower your weapon?"

The man snorted. "You a cop or something? God, you sound just like my brother-in-law." Then he smirked at Rick. "But see, here's the thing, man. I got ya'll surrounded. I got a dozen men in the forest, ready to pick you two off if that's what it comes to."

"He's lying," Zora said immediately. "It's just him. They come out alone."

"Shut up, bitch!" The rifle fixed on her now, but his gaze returned to Rick. "She's wrong. I got twelve men with me. Think they'd send me alone to find this crazy bitch?" he nodded at Zora.

"Yeah," Zora said, certain. "I do. There aren't enough men in your camp to send twelve in each direction, prick. So why don't you lower your weapon, before my friend here puts an arrow in your shoulder?"

"Shoulder?" Daryl scoffed. "I'm thinkin' the eye." Then he caught on to Zora's train of thought. "Aw, I see what you're saying…" He nodded at the stranger. "Listen up, dickhead. Either you put down your weapon, or you'll be comin' back with us with a fucked up arm. Ya hear?"

"I'm not goin' anywhere with y'all," the stranger growled.

"Well I guess that's too fuckin' bad then." Daryl didn't waste another moment. He pulled the trigger, and an arrow pierced the man right through his shoulder. Perfect shot – wouldn't kill him unless they let him bleed out.

The man screamed in anguish, dropping his hunting rifle and falling to his knees. He tried, dumbly, to pull the arrow out, but it was embedded in his skin.

Zora stepped up to him, shoulders drawn back, lips pursed. "Stop that," she ordered. "You'll bleed out if that thing comes out of you." Then she raised the butt of her hand gun, and smirked at him. "Fuck you, asshole." Striking him over the head, she knocked him out and watched him fall face-first into the dirt.

"Shit, woman," Daryl said, looking at Zora as if she were a new woman. "You got balls."

Zora smirked at him. It was about time she got ahead of Athol. She nodded at Daryl, since Rick's arm was bleeding. "Help me get this asshole back to the car."

* * *

Rick hovered silently in Zora's doorway, studying the way she stared down at her hands, a grim expression coloring her eyes. His teeth were clenched – he knew what she wanted to do with the man they'd taken captive today, and he couldn't very well blame her, but Rick didn't have the stomach for torture. He had a feeling she didn't either, especially given her more recent history.

"What is it you need, Rick?" she asked tiredly, leaning back against her pillows. She closed her eyes a moment before blinking them open, staring at him curiously.

Rick sighed. "You wanna torture that man."

"I don't particularly want to," Zora corrected. "But… sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do."

He knew that to be true, all right. Rick had done a great many things since waking up from his coma that he didn't want to do… but that he _had_ to do. A great many.

"I understand that," he told her, "but… that doesn't make it any easier."

"No," she agreed. "It doesn't."

He stepped further into the room. It was extremely spartan, down to the perfectly squared bed sheets. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the space beside her. At her nod, he sat down, feeling weary… heavy. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward.

"You were on your own, before… that?" he asked, nodding at her hands.

Zora frowned. "For the most part. Directly before… I was with a group. A small group. A father, his two girls, and some college kids. They convinced me to stick around. Couldn't survive on their own." Her eyes glazed over, her mind retracting back into her memories. Back to a place that looked none too pleasant. "But when Athol came… They were quick to bargain with him. Me for them. I got away at first – not without some injury – but they fed him information on me. He got me anyway."

Fuck, that was rough, to say the least. Rick felt uncomfortable. He and Zora didn't know one another well, not on a personal level, but he trusted this woman. She made good calls and she looked out for people and she contributed without being asked to do so. She was good.

"Before that," Zora continued after a short silence, "I was on my own. Since the outbreak. Couldn't find my family in Atlanta. Lost my team in D.C."

Rick cleared his throat. "No husband?"

Zora laughed, to his surprise. Not a bitter laugh, either – a real one. "No. Not for me." She smiled at him. "I lived and breathed my duty – didn't have much time for any kind of life outside that. What about you? You have Carl, Judith… Where's their mother?"

He knew she was nervous, asking this question – everyone always wanted to know, but didn't ask. It was painful, thinking of Lori. Thinking of how bad their relationship had been, before she died. He bit his lip. "She's dead. Died a while ago."

"I'm sorry," Zora said.

He waved her off. "It's gettin' late. When you want to… talk to the man?"

Shoving to her feet, Rick watched as Zora steeled herself. Her expression hardened – she looked like a true soldier, right now – and she squared her shoulders. "No time like the present."

* * *

"I can do it," Daryl said, noting the exhaustion in Zora's step. He'd been waiting for her for about an hour as he sat with their prisoner in one of the unoccupied houses. The stranger had woken up about half an hour after Daryl had dragged him into the room and cuffed him to a radiator. He'd been silent ever since.

Rick hadn't joined Zora, Daryl noticed. He wasn't terribly surprised – Rick was never one to condone… physical interrogation. Daryl didn't like it much either, but out of everyone in town, he was the best prepared for it. He was already all sorts of fucked up. What did anyone care if he couldn't sleep at night?

Zora gave him a weak smile. "No, I'll do it. It's my responsibility."

Daryl grunted. "Doesn't have to be."

The woman fixed him with a strange look. Daryl shifted, his eyes moving to the ground.

Standing, Daryl blocked her entrance to the room. He looked down at her, expression blank now, and said again, "Doesn't have to be you."

She still wore that odd expression. His stomach squirmed.

"Listen Daryl," she said softly, her tone… kinder, than usual. She glanced him over sadly. "I know people probably expect this of you, since you're tough, but I can see it on your face. You don't want to do this just as much as me."

Daryl bit his cheek to keep from scowling. Honestly, no one ever really considered how he felt about this particular task. They just assumed he'd do it. He was redneck trash after all – what fucking morals did he have? But Zora saw right through that. She was perceptive. Too perceptive. It unsettled him, in more ways than one.

"Nah, I don't wanna do it," he agreed. "But… you shouldn't have to, neither." Now he sucked in a breath. This was getting more personal than he wanted it to, but it was necessary. Daryl had a sense of honor. He couldn't just step aside and let this woman taint her hands until he had exhausted all options. And he wanted her to know that – she had options. "I don't wanna do it," he said it again. "But I'd do it for you."

Zora cocked her head. "Why's that?"

He just grunted. "'S just the right thing." She blinked at him. "Stop lookin' at me all funny," he finally said, fed up with feeling exposed.

"I'm not. I just… I appreciate you, Daryl Dixon. That's all."

His heart fluttered, like a goddamn hummingbird.

"Which is why I'm going to do this myself," she told him. "So step aside."

* * *

Before she'd allow the stranger to see her, Zora needed to collect herself. She needed to look the part – like the eager torturer, the blood hungry crazy bitch who could extract a confession at Gitmo. It took a few moments; she needed to suck in some deep breaths, steel her mind, allow herself to just feel… numb.

It wasn't her first time torturing someone. Probably wouldn't be her last, sadly. In Zora's experience, the only people who ever enjoyed torture were the ones who always extracted false confessions. They didn't give a shit about the information. But people like her – people who could hardly stomach what they'd done after the fact – they just wanted information. They didn't want anything else.

Which is why she had to do it. Not Daryl. Not someone else from town. Her.

She opened the door. Daryl silently followed her in.

Their prisoner sat awkwardly on the ground, his hands both cuffed to the radiator on the far wall, his shoulder haphazardly patched up from some quick first aid Zora had performed earlier. As soon as he saw her, his eyes darkened. This was a man thirsty for blood – her blood.

"You're a crazy bitch," he spat at her, watching as she stepped further into the room. "Fuckin' crazy, you know that?"

"Yeah," Zora said lightly. "I do." She crouched down in front of him, her eyes coldly perusing him, like he was an animal caught in a trap. "I also know that, one way or another, you're going to tell me what I want to know. If you tell me up front, you'll be happier for it."

The stranger really seemed to consider this for a moment. He swallowed thickly. Back in the forest, his gumption had been all talk, no real bite. Zora could always tell that about a man. This here was a man afraid of pain, afraid of suffering. Maybe she could just go the psychological route. Make torture sound so horrifying to him that he'd just spill anyway.

But he surprised her. "Go to hell, cunt." Then he spat in her face.

Zora blinked at him, showing no reaction. Indifferently, she wiped his saliva away and shifted her fingers to the dagger on her vest. Withdrawing it from its sheathe, she turned it over, allowing it to glint precariously in the low light of the lamp Daryl had placed in the room. He'd placed a toolbox next to the lamp. Prepared, as always.

She briefly glanced at Daryl, catching the way he watched her carefully. Turning her cold eyes back to her prisoner, she said, "Let's start with something simple. What's your name?"

The stranger just stared at her in return, resolute, silent. Zora shook her head at him, playing with her knife. His gaze flickered down to the object, and the fearlessness he tried to project before vanished.

"If someone comes looking for you," Zora said, "I'll need a name. So just tell me who you are."

That seemed logical enough for him. "Name's Jerry," he all but growled. He looked away, towards the corner, as if ashamed of himself.

"Jerry," Zora repeated. "That's not so hard, is it? So tell me Jerry. What were you doing this far west? Looking for me?"

Jerry pressed his lips together. He couldn't look at her.

Zora flicked her knife gracefully around her finger, drawing his eye. She tsked at him. "Come on, Jerry, don't get all quiet on me now. I just washed these clothes. Really not looking forward to having to do that again. Blood's a bitch to get out."

Another thick swallow. He could only focus on the knife. "Wasn't lookin' for you," he finally said. "Athol didn't think you got very far, given you had an infection 'n all. I was looking for more people."

Zora nodded. She had guessed this, earlier, but needed to confirm it. "And you came across this town?"

Jerry gave a curt nod.

Zora glanced back at Daryl again. He was right to have been worried – Jerry might've gone right back to Athol to tell him about Alexandria, after he scouted the town out some more.

Standing from her crouch, giving the man some breathing room, Zora paced lightly in front of him. "Okay. So you weren't looking for me. Did anyone else come out this way? On their own scouting trip?"

Jerry snarled at her. "I ain't a rat."

"You are today," she told him sternly. "You'll be a rat if you don't wanna get killed. Do you understand me?"

"Athol said you was crazy," Jerry muttered, looking at her with disgust. "Said you was a killer." She could see, in the corner of her eye, Daryl tense at this. "You killed Sam like he was nothin'! Not an ounce of remorse in ya!"

Zora fumed. She got back in his face, nose to nose with him, her eyes deadly. "You want to talk to me about remorse?" She was shaking with anger. Good. This was good. It would make things easier. "Your people _kidnap_ strangers and sell them as slaves, or worse, as _meat_! And you're going to lecture me on remorse?"

Jerry shook his head and laughed in her face. "You think we gotta choice? You're just as crazy as Athol. You're blind, just like him."

Instinct took over – a terrible, raging instinct. Zora struck the man, getting him square in the face. He howled and fell back against the wall, looking slighted. A welt immediately began to form on his face as his eye puffed up. Zora didn't care. She was nothing like Athol. She wouldn't allow someone to insult her like that.

Handling her knife again, this time with true intent, Zora grabbed Jerry by the front of his shirt and yanked him close. "Is there anyone else out this way?" Zora questioned, her voice all but drained of emotion. "Tell me and I'll spare you."

Finally, Jerry seemed to comprehend that his life was on the line. Really on the line. Zora looked like murder personified, her eyes brewing, her hand ready to lash out at any moment. He blinked, three times, and sputtered at her. "You're fucking crazy!"

"Tell me, Jerry. Last chance."

His adam's apple bobbed. "Fine!" His eyes were wild, looking between her and Daryl. "Fine, I'll tell you!"

"I'm listening."

"There's – there's three. Ethan a bit south of here. George further down. And Rudy – he's north. All keepin' within forty miles of camp."

Zora suddenly felt cold. Rudy – to the north. She knew him. He was a sick fuck. And to the north of here… was Hilltop.

Releasing his shirt, letting Jerry fall back against the wall, Zora stood. She dully noticed her hand was throbbing from hitting him. She turned, robotically, facing Daryl, who seemed to catch the concern on her face.

"Don't let him go anywhere," she told Daryl, before darting away.

* * *

It was well past midnight now, but Zora's exhaustion had faded, replaced with fear-fueled adrenaline. She bolted down the street, towards the house she was sharing with Carol. She'd never run faster in her life – not even in training. As soon as she reached the house, she flew up the porch, through the door, and rushed upstairs.

She shoved her bedroom door open and sought out the radio. Where was it, where – there, under the pillow.

Without a second thought, she turned the knob and the green light came on.

"Jesus?" even to her own ears, she sounded panicked. Scared. "Jesus – are you there?" The irony of that question would have hit her were she not in such a state.

Nothing. No reply.

She tried again, more frantic. "Jesus! Come on. Talk to me!"

Finally, she heard a cackling noise. Then a voice came over the radio, sounding bleary. Freshly awake. "Zora?" Her chest heaved in relief. That was him. Jesus. "Where are you? You hurt?"

Breathing in and out, slowly now, Zora just laughed. "No," she said. "No. I just – I ran across one of Athol's men today."

"What?" She could hear the sleep fade from his voice. "Tell me where you are."

"No – that's not the point." She sat down on the floor, leaned back against the bedframe. "You need to listen to me. There's a man scouting north of my position – near Hilltop. He goes by Rudy. He's a sick bastard, Jesus. He'll… if he finds you, he'll…" she couldn't even say it. Couldn't think it. "You need to be careful. Tell your people. You aren't safe."

A pause filled the air. "By the sound of it, neither are you. If you just came here, Zora – you know more about these people than we do. You can help us."

He was right. She _could_ help them. Rick and Daryl and the rest – they were fighters, like her. They could look after themselves. But the people at Hilltop…

"Come on," Jesus pushed. "You know it's the right thing to do."

Fuck.

"I'll think about it," she said. It was all she could offer at the moment. She still had a commitment to Rick's group, regardless if they could take care of themselves.

He must've been holding down the button, because Zora could hear him sigh. "I guess that's as good a deal I'll get from you, huh?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "I have to go."

"Fine. But Zora?"

"Yeah?"

"Keep the fucking radio on, from here on out. Got it? Or I will come looking for you."

Zora rolled her eyes. "Got it."

* * *

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?" Daryl asked, arms crossed, after she had returned to the house with the prisoner. "The fuck's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Zora said, brushing him off. "Where's Jerry?"

"Still locked up to that radiator," Daryl growled. He grabbed her bicep and pulled her close, glaring down at her. "Tell me what's goin' on."

" _Nothing_ ," Zora said, her tone warning him to drop it.

But Daryl didn't take warnings, not from anyone. He didn't let go of her, either. "Zora, I've about haddit with you, you hear me?"

She snorted. Very unladylike, that. "Yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm tryna help you out, but you struggle at every step!" Was scowling Daryl's resting face, or what? That man seemed to only scowl at her. "Why you gotta be so obstinate, huh?"

"Why do you have to be so nasty all the time?" she shot back at him. "Yelling at me, every fucking day. What's your problem with me, Dixon? First you're nice to me upstairs, now you're pissed again?"

His chest heaved, up and down, as he continued to glare at her. Releasing his grip on her, his hands went to rest at his sides, fidgeting. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

"Me?" Zora scoffed. "I'm the one being reasonable right now!"

"Reasonable? You call flying like a bat outta hell reasonable, without explainin' yourself, then comin' right back all calm and shit? That seem reasonable to you?"

Zora bit her tongue. He was right. Because he didn't know about Jesus, about Hilltop, she was acting really erratic to him. Fuck. Sighing, defeated, Zora nodded and stepped away from him. Daryl watched her in silence as she thought over her next words.

"Look," she said finally. "You said you didn't see me as a threat anymore. And I'm not. I've just got… some stuff to figure out."

"Tell me what kinda stuff."

That was an order, not a question. Zora huffed. "No. It's personal." More than that, she didn't have much of a right to expose Hilltop any more than she could expose Alexandria. Rock and a hard place, and all that.

"How am I supposed to trust that, huh?" he pushed. "You gon' be all vague and shit, and I'm just s'pposed to accept that?"

Looking him in the eye, her expression turning soft, Zora merely said, "Yeah. Unfortunately. Just trust me, Daryl. Is that really too much to ask?"

His gaze trailed down to the daggers on her vest, to her lips, to her eyes. She could see his internal struggle – she could also see something else there, too. The same thing she saw earlier, when he had offered to take the burden of torture on himself. It was a soft expression, one she normally would have argued couldn't belong to Daryl fucking Dixon, but alas. And she didn't have a name for it.

"Fine," he muttered, snaking a hand through his hair. Fixing her with a final look, he said, "Don't screw me over, Zora."

"I won't." And she meant it.

* * *

Rick woke her up early the next day, looking for all the world like he hadn't slept a single minute through the night. "How'd things go?" he asked her, after she'd dressed and joined him downstairs in the kitchen. Carol was nowhere to be seen, but then again, she normally wasn't. Zora didn't know the older woman much – at all, really – but she sensed the… wrongness about her. The brokenness. So she didn't bother her housemate too much.

Zora stared down at her cup of coffee – God, she would never get used to life here in Alexandria – when she said, "It went well, actually. Didn't really have to rough him up. He was more afraid of the idea of pain – those are always the easy ones."

"Always?" Rick cocked a brow at her. Non-judgmental, but suspicious, still. "They had you torture in the army?"

Ugh. Zora was tired of the pretense. But it was still so close to her actual occupation, that she at least found herself not bending the truth too far. "Depended on the administration," was all she said, and she'd leave it at that.

Rick nodded. He didn't seem to want to know any more, anyway. "And what're we gonna do with him?" He asked this as if he already anticipated Zora's next words, as if he dreaded them all the same… but had already come to accept it.

"We're gonna have to kill him," Zora answered quietly. She sighed. "Not a lot of options. Can't let him go – he'll fly back to Athol, first chance he gets. Can't keep him here – another mouth to feed and he'd need a guard all the time. Athol has a way of conditioning his men so that… they can't ever really leave. Be part of anything else. So we have to kill him."

Again, Rick gave a short nod. "Yeah, I thought as much."

"You don't have to be part of it, Rick. I'll handle it on my own. It's my fault this is happening, anyway."

Resting a hand over hers, tentatively, Rick disagreed. "That's not true and you know it. This man, this Athol – you said he's looking for more people. If he'd send a scout this far west, then he was bound to find us anyway. Better to be ahead of the storm before it strikes."

There was no arguing that. "Still," Zora persisted. "Let me handle it. You've done a lot for me, Rick. Let me do this."

The former sheriff had a sense of honor unlike most people Zora had met in her life, so she could tell this bothered him. As the leader of this group, the problem solver, the protector, he felt the need to make the difficult choices. Do the hard thing. But Zora had a sense of honor, too. She couldn't let someone else take a burden that was hers to carry.

"All right," Rick said at last, sounding none too pleased with himself. "But if you need me – you don't hesitate."

* * *

An execution was always a hard thing to stomach. Zora was partially grateful for that – a lot of the men and women in her unit had merely grown accustomed to it. They couldn't be blamed for that. When you were at war, whether it was a secret war or not, shit changed you. Things that would typically seem wildly abnormal became… commonplace. Things like execution, or torture, or bloodshed. Zora was at least intimately acquainted with the bloodshed – she was a Captain, after all. But the others… no, she never did have a thirst for them.

So when she led Jerry out into the forest encircling Alexandria, it was with a heavy heart and a twisted stomach.

His hands were cuffed behind his back. Blood trickled lethargically from his arrow wound that hadn't had proper time to heal. It never would. She knew the man recognized this trek out into the woods for what it was – the end. He had some dignity about him. Didn't cry, didn't lash out. He was resigned to his fate. Silent.

Daryl was a silent but strong presence behind her. She could hardly hear his footsteps – he was one with the natural world, it seemed – but she _felt_ him. He hadn't judged her for the tough decision either, but had yet again volunteered himself for the deed. Zora guessed that he knew, this time around, that she'd refuse him, but he had pushed the topic anyway. She was beginning to understand that Daryl cared about her. About the things she had to do and the things that could happen to her. And that – that made her nervous. Anxious. She wasn't sure what to do with it.

"Stop there," she told Jerry, voice empty but hard. The prisoner obeyed her words, stopping in the midst of a small break in trees, the grass reaching up to his ankles. He canted his head downwards – he was praying, Zora realized.

"Turn around," she told him.

That elicited a laugh out of the man; a bitter, cruel sounding thing. He did as he was told and faced Zora, a twisted smile on his face. The smile of a dead man walking. "So the crazy bitch wants t'look at me while she does it? You get some sick sorta pleasure outta this, cunt?"

Zora kept her expression blank. No, she wanted to tell him, I don't. I really, really don't. But she felt like it was cheating to shoot him in the back of the head. Wrong. It made the whole ordeal less personal, as if she were trying to remove herself from the terrible thing she was about to do, and Zora wasn't about to make herself any less accountable.

"On your knees."

"Fuck you," Jerry said, but he complied. Wasn't even going to put up a fight. Something about that saddened Zora.

"Got any last words?" she asked, mostly out of pity. Zora didn't believe in 'last words'. Had the roles been reversed – had she been the one on her knees with a handgun shoved in her face – she would've fought to her last. No 'last words' bullshit. But Zora supposed it could mean something, to someone else.

"Yeah," the man said, sounding tired and angry all at once. "I got some last words for you, bitch. Athol's gonna get you. He's gonna get you and make you pay for every little thing you've ever done in your life. You hear me? He'll throw you to the men and let them have their way with you, and do you think you'll be so tough then? Do you think – "

Suddenly, an arrow breezed past Zora's head, embedding itself sickly in Jerry's left eye. The man stuttered before dropping over, dead, nearly covered by the tall grass.

Zora was shaking. Trembling like a frail leave on a branch. She stared down at Jerry's body, at the blood trailing down his cheek, and felt her resolve crumbling. He was right, in some way. She could only run from Athol for so long. She could only –

"Hey."

Daryl stepped into her line of sight, blocking the body of Jerry. His eyes were scrunched in concern – none of that scowl he usually wore – and he tentatively reached out and placed a hand on Zora's shoulder. "You okay?"

Zora clenched her jaw. "You killed him."

"I did."

She shook her head. "Why?"

"Cuz' you've done enough. 'Bout time you let someone else take care of things."

Zora didn't want to argue that. Not now. She was tired – bone weary – and she felt nauseas. Athol would find her eventually. He'd do exactly what Jerry said. She was a dead woman walking, too.

Daryl grabbed her hand, surprisingly gentle. "C'mon," he said, leading her away from the scene. "Let's go home."

* * *

Zora didn't know him. Jesus was a stranger to her, an absolute stranger. Two days with a man didn't automatically grant you with the ability to be objective about his character or his intentions.

So why was she thinking of going to Hilltop? Why did she think of him at all?

And she couldn't just leave Daryl. Or Rick and the others. Their food supply was becoming critical – they were going to need someone like Zora who was fit and able to go out on supply runs here and there.

The thought had crossed her mind more than once, but she always rejected it. Of consolidating the two groups – Hilltop and Alexandria. Neither group would go for it. She didn't know the people at Hilltop, except for Jesus, but she knew that Rick would see that large of a new population as a threat. No matter which way she tried to argue for it in her head, he just wouldn't go for it.

He also wouldn't want her to leave. Neither would Daryl.

If she did take off, it'd have to be under the cover of night. She'd need a car – Hilltop was too far away to walk to and risk encountering Athol's men. But a car was hard to hide, just in case she needed to. A motorcycle, on the other hand…

No, stealing Daryl's motorcycle would take all that kindness he had shown her and degrade it. But she could bring it back…

Fuck.

Pacing back and forth in her bedroom, Zora ran her fingers through her short hair. If she had just gone with Jesus to begin with, she wouldn't be in this mess. Caught between obligations to two groups. Caught up in thinking of how Daryl would react…

Groaning in frustration, Zora settled herself on the bed. Athol's camp was closer to Hilltop. It posed them a greater threat, because they didn't have fighters. So that had to come first. She knew it did. But it was so hard… just leaving this place and these people behind.

So she'd just have to come back. Make sure Jesus and the others were properly prepared to engage Athol in a fight, should it come down to it, then return to Alexandria.

Zora darted down to the kitchen for a piece of paper and a pen. She addressed it to Rick; he would be the most level headed about things. She filled the entire page before returning to her room, placing the sheet on her pillow, and snatching up the radio.

"Jesus," she said.

His reply was immediate. "Zora."

She sighed. "I'm coming to Hilltop. I've gotta find a vehicle. But… be ready for me."

There was a long stretch of silence. "I've been ready," he said firmly. "For a while, now."

Ugh. She couldn't help the smile that stretched over her lips. "Good."

* * *

 **A/N: Oooooh :0 I wonder how Daryl will react?  
**

 **And I've gotta admit - I adore Rick Grimes. Once I really get going with this fic, I'll probably get another one up centered more on him with an OC and Negan. That would be really interesting, to me. I would switch up the writing for that, though. To me, Zora requires a more straightforward POV. She sees the world in that manner. Writing Jesus is fun because I get to play with my normal writing style. So I think a Rick/OC/Negan, or just a Rick/OC fic, would have more meat to it.**

 **Up next: Zora arrives at Hilltop.**

 **Please review if you're liking it! Even a simple review is great to have after these long days filled with exams!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** **: There are a few things I would like to address before getting to this chapter. A review was left by a (probably brief) reader of this story saying that, because Jesus is gay in the show/comics, I should write him that way. I apologize if I have offended this reader or any others in any way, but the first A/N I left** _ **did**_ **explain that when I first began writing this, I didn't know he was gay (I don't read the comics yet). However, I also don't see the issue with changing his sexuality for something clearly written as entertainment. Slash fics are written all the time without inciting this kind of response (that straight characters ought to be kept straight), so I think it's just important to remember that this is a site that thrives on creativity, not a site that imposes limitations. I have zero issue with Jesus being gay. Ayo, maybe he and Daryl would eventually get along in this fic, too… Just saying. Also, I wrote most of these chapters** _ **long**_ **before there were many scenes with Jesus. So sometimes I don't have his personality spot on, anyway.**

 **Anyway, rant over. I've had this chapter written for forever (the next one, too), but due to finals last semester and some family stuff, haven't really had lots of motivation to post. I do now, though, so I hope the few readers that I do have will enjoy!**

 **Four.**

Zora was making good time. Hilltop had to be only an hour's drive away, now. She'd left Alexandria about four hours ago, in the dead of night, without a single person noticing her departure. Guilt still wrenched in her belly – she knew someone would realize her absence in the morning, would go looking for her, find her note. She knew Rick would hand it off to Daryl, or Daryl would hand it off to Rick, and the two of them would be pissed. One probably more than the other

But she had promised she would return to them. Hopefully that would be enough. Oh – and she promised Daryl she'd bring his bike back. Otherwise she had a feeling he would hunt her down without pause.

The wind ripped through her hair, tangling it every which way, but it felt _good_. Zora had a bike of her own, back before the outbreak. Hadn't been able to ride it much considering she was overseas half the time, but she'd loved it all the same. So she'd take good care of this bike. She knew Daryl must love it, too.

Half an hour later, feeling closer and closer to Hilltop, Zora, in her tired state, drove straight on by a few walkers on the road, paying them no mind. There was just a handful – nothing she was too worried about. Fifteen minutes further, and that all changed.

There wasn't just a handful.

There was a horde.

Zora cursed under her breath and brought the bike to a screeching halt, some 100 meters away from them. Fuck fuck _fuck_. This bike was _loud_ , drawing their eyes, making their feet shuffle towards her in their hunger.

Glancing about, Zora realized she had only one option.

Pushing hard on the handles, she angled them towards the forest to her left. This wasn't a dirt bike – far from it – but it could handle a slower ride through the forest, right?

She shifted gears and hit the gas, ambling towards the forest, breaking through its edge, penetrating its brush and undergrowth. Branches scratched at her, marking up her arms, but she didn't stop. She needed to outpace the horde, get far enough away from them that they wouldn't be able to hear the bike's engine any longer.

She went thirty minutes, thirty very _long_ minutes, without any trouble. Then she heard gunshots, somewhere behind her, and it threw her attention off the careful balancing act she was managing, keeping the bike upright and going.

The front tire caught a root – a huge one. She knew what would happen before it did. Zora was flung over the handlebars, flipping through the air, before she landed hard on the ground. Her head made an impact with a rock – _fuck_ – and she could feel her thoughts slow in her head, as if swimming through quicksand, wading through thick, murky water. She had just a moment to yank the radio off her vest, to press the button a few times, before she blacked out.

000

Jesus hadn't slept through the night. Not since Zora had informed him that she would be heading towards Hilltop, and was likely due to arrive any moment now. The sun had risen some three hours ago, watery rays reaching out across the sprawling vegetation laid out before Hilltop, painting everything in benevolent colors. Almost as if it weren't the apocalypse, as if he weren't waiting anxiously for this woman to arrive so he'd just know she was _safe_.

He was up on the guard tower with Kal, who'd just come on shift, bleary-eyed and wary. Jesus's own turquois eyes flickered about, noting every disturbance in the brush, following the wind trailing through the canopy of leaves. Despite his exhaustion, he was alert. More than he had been in six weeks.

Any moment now, right? Or would he be waiting all day? Zora hadn't specified where she had been, which was frustrating, but he had to assume that if she was traveling by vehicle, she'd at least reach Hilltop by midday. Six hours had already passed since she radioed him. How far out could she have been?

Another hour passed without her appearance. He was beginning to feel anxious – palms sweating, heart fluttering about in his chest. Worry nagged at him, eating away at his composure slowly. Kal noticed, asked him if he was doing okay – Jesus just waved him off and continued pacing the guard tower.

The others… they knew bits and pieces about Zora. It was Harlan, the doctor, who'd first found out about her. Jesus trusted Harlan best. He was a good man, honest and hardworking, astute. It hadn't taken Jesus off guard too much when Harlan had finally posed the question: "What the heck's eating you up, man?"

Only a week after leaving Zora, and someone had already noticed Jesus's… saddened disposition. So different than his usual resilience, his optimism, persistent sarcasm. Jesus had only shaken his head at the doctor in silence, staring down into the campfire they sat around, waiting for their meat to cook. But the doctor had pushed the issue.

"Seriously, Jesus – you okay? Since you came back from your last supply run, you've been… different." Harlan's eyes were equal parts curious and concerned. "Something happen out there?"

Staring down into the churning embers, the flickering flames, Jesus had finally decided to share his thoughts with someone. "I… met a woman," he said quietly, eyes shifting warily to Harlan to gauge his reaction.

He'd found the other man smiling softly. "Ah. Must've been quite the woman, to knock you so far off balance," he commented good naturedly.

"Yeah," Jesus had agreed. "She is."

"And where is she now?" Harlan had asked. Then his face darkened. "Did she…?"

Jesus had shaken his head. "She's alive. She… didn't want to come back here. She's out there on her own."

"Hm," the other man had said, a bit sadly. "Really must be quite the woman."

Slowly, the others in camp began to realize the shift in Jesus's typically calm and collected demeanor. He became more anxious – always carrying his radio around, as if he were waiting for someone to ring in, talk to him, always glancing towards the gate like someone might arrive. He didn't sleep well. Went on more supply runs than usual, hoping to run into her.

Honestly, for the first couple of weeks, he wasn't sure what the hell had gotten into him. Jesus was a survivor, a fighter. Even before outbreak, that's what he'd been. Women… sure, he'd had a few girlfriends before, but nothing serious. There was never anything that had lingered in his mind so badly that it kept him awake at night. That just wasn't him. But for the past six weeks, it definitely had been.

When she'd first radioed him, his heart was beating out of his chest. He thought she'd been overrun by a horde of the dead, or maybe discovered by Athol. His first instinct, upon assuming she was in trouble, was to grab his weapons and get ready to leave Hilltop. But after she'd reassured him that she was merely checking on _him_ … Well, that didn't lessen his anxiety. Because then he knew that she thought of him, too. It wasn't a one-sided ordeal.

It made things worse.

But fuck. She should've just come with him, back to Hilltop, in the first place. Then he could be himself – calm. Authoritative. Focused. Instead, he was perpetually worried, unsure, and distracted. He despised that about himself. And the only way to fix it – well, he assumed the only solution was to have her around. Keep an eye on her. _See_ her.

How pathetic was that?

The second time she had radioed him, her voice undeniably filled with fear, imploring for him to answer her, Jesus had felt… consumed. He couldn't explain it. Not only had he feared the worst, yet again, but the way she spoke his name… it _consumed_ him. He needed her to leave the radio on. He needed to have access to her.

And then she finally said she'd come – to Hilltop.

He hadn't slept since.

But it was taking her too long. He couldn't go out and look – not when he had no idea where to begin looking in the first place. All he could do was wait. Wait and worry and keep his eyes open.

000

Zora woke slowly, in stages. Her hearing came back first; there was some sort of rumbling going on, not far from her – a rasp. No, a groan… someone was groaning. They sounded like they were in pain.

Or hungry.

When her vision returned and she blinked blearily around the dimly lit forest, Zora realized there was a walker heading towards her. One of its feet dragged behind it – a twisted, broken leg – as it made a slow, tenuous trek towards Zora.

Her heart thudded away in her chest – where was her knife? Both daggers had fallen out of the sheathes in her vest; one, evidently, cut her up decently in the leg when she fell. There was a bloody gash in her pants, wide and long, tracing up about her thigh. Fuck. That didn't look good. It was shallow, though – nothing that should concern her too much at the moment.

There – in the brush, a dagger. Zora lunged for it, cringing as pain lanced through her leg. The walker was getting closer. Shoving onto shaky legs, Zora bit back a moan of agony and met the walker half-way. She shoved her dagger through its eye and let the poor creature fall back into the earth, truly dead now.

Heaving with breath, Zora looked around. Memory gradually returned to her – her bike, _Daryl's_ bike, had crashed. It lay some feet away from her, one wheel spinning lazily in the breeze, looking like it managed to stay in better shape than she.

Thank God. Daryl would absolutely murder her if she fucked up his bike.

Her leg was messed up pretty badly, but not unmanageably. She took the hem of her tee shirt and tore it, getting a long enough piece of fabric to tie around the wound. That would have to do for the time being. Once she reached Hilltop, someone would have to look at it.

Then she gathered her supplies, which had scattered on the ground around the bike. A water bottle here, a package of food there, the radio…

Fuck, the radio was shattered. Glancing up at the sky, Zora realized she had to have been unconscious for an hour, maybe two. Jesus wouldn't have gotten any indication from her that something went wrong. No one would be looking for her.

Studying the angle of the sun, Zora knew which way she had to head to get to Hilltop. It took an immense amount of effort, but she shoved Daryl's bike back onto its wheels – the thing was fucking _heavy_ – and started pushing it, slowly but surely, through the shadowed forest. Her limp would make for a long journey, but there wasn't any other option. She had to keep moving.

000

The sun had passed its apex in the sky and began its lazy journey downwards, towards the western horizon. Sweat had gathered on Jesus's forehead, his palms, and his eyes burned with exhaustion, but still, he looked.

Wesley had taken Kal's place an hour ago. Harlan had brought some food up, too, for Jesus to eat, but he had hardly touched it. He felt wrong. Something was wrong.

Another half an hour passed, and his anxiety reached its peak. Maybe he should go out there and look, canvas the forest around Hilltop to the south. Maybe –

"The fuck is that?" Wesley asked, pulling his binoculars up to his face.

Jesus turned sharply to the other man's side. "What?"

"That," Wesley pointed south east. "You see that?"

He didn't. Grabbing the binoculars from Wesley, Jesus situated them on the area he was pointing, but there was brush from the forest in the way. Nothing.

Another five minutes passed with the two men watching the south-east anxiously. Then a boot-clad foot stepped out of the brush – _limped_ out of the brush – a motorcycle being pushed at her side.

There – that jagged hair, the angular face - Zora.

"Fuck," Jesus cursed. She was in bad shape. He slid down the rough-edged ladder and hollered at Wesley to open the gate.

Wesley looked down at him as if he'd sprouted another head. "You crazy, man? Bitch looks nuts!"

"Wesley," Jesus said in a low, threatening voice. "Open the goddamn gate, or so help me – "

"Fine, fine," Wesley said, having always deferred to Jesus anyway. "Whatever man. Your funeral."

As soon as the gate opened wide enough for Jesus to slide through, he was sprinting towards her.

The closer he got to her, the worse she looked. There was a cut above her eyebrow, bleeding lethargically down the side of her head. Her eyes, which hadn't even noticed him yet, seemed glossy and tired, focused down at her feet, at the wheels of the bike, which she was just barely holding upright. There was a piece of fabric tied around her thigh; blood had blossomed on it and dried, stained the light color dark.

"Fuck," he cursed again, finally reaching her. He took the bike from her – her brows wrinkled in confusion, as if she couldn't quite see him, didn't really understand what was happening – and rested it against a tree. Then he walked right up to her and cupped her face. "Zora?"

She was confused. Had a concussion, no doubt. Watery green eyes blinked up at him, uncertain, before she quietly asked, "Jesus?"

"Yeah," he said, laughing a bit in relief. "Yeah – it's me."

"Oh good," she said, tiredly. "I think – I think I'm about to faint again."

She did, collapsing right into his arms, which were outstretched and ready to catch her. He lifted her into his arms, held her against his chest, and walked slowly back towards the gate.

She had made it. She had finally made it.

000

"She looks feral," was the first thing Gregory said, standing over the limp body of Zora, as Harlan got to work on examining her. Gregory's tone was detached, hollow – as if he were speaking of an animal and not a person.

Jesus only barely restrained a glare. "She's not," he told the other man, almost bitingly. "Something happened to her."

"Obviously," the older man huffed out. "I was expecting some sort of exotic beauty, from the way you've been all bent out of shape," he continued, overtly unimpressed. "Not some… dirty, bloody… thing."

Harlan and Jesus exchanged glances. Gregory was terrible when it came to women – thought of them as objects, things to be conquered and won, second-hand citizens. It was disgusting and archaic, and at the moment, it was the last thing Jesus wanted to deal with.

Turning to Gregory, his entire stance exuding irritation, Jesus said, "Why don't you go tell the others we'll be in here awhile. Make yourself useful somewhere else."

Gregory got the gist, though he was obviously unhappy about taking orders from Jesus. Grinding his teeth together, he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind himself.

"Always so charismatic," Harlan commented dryly. He softly turned Zora's head over in his lap, where she lay limp on the couch in the main parlor, and examined her wounds. The cut on her forehead had stopped bleeding, but gaped open. "This'll need some stitches," he told Jesus, "and she certainly has a concussion. Not sure how bad, yet. But I'm more concerned about her leg, and if there's anything wrong under this vest." He glanced up at the other man, as if asking for permission. "We're gonna need to take this off."

Jesus nodded. They should get another woman in here, but with the vest, they might not have the time. Harlan was right – it could be hiding another more pressing injury.

Crouching down, Jesus studied the intricate buckles and straps that held the vest so snug to Zora's body. The material was surprisingly soft – not the hard and rough Kevlar he had assumed it was. He began carefully undoing the straps, one at a time, whilst imagining her doing these up once every day. Fuck, it took so long.

Once it was finally loose, they gently pulled it off her. She was just wearing a tee shirt underneath, torn at the bottom, which was easy enough to pull up and off. Some sort of tactical sports bra covered the upper portion of her chest – he wasn't even sure how to get that off – but Harlan told him they didn't need to, thankfully.

But as soon as the creamy colored skin of her abdomen was revealed, both men cringed.

The scars on Zora's hands – they were nothing compared to the ones that painted the rest of her body. Some were extremely old and faded – nearly imperceptible to the eye, now, but with the bright sun shining down into the room, they were glaringly obvious.

Others… the knife wound, which had healed up some weeks ago, were a flushed pink color, shiny and new, exposing soft and sensitive skin to the outside world. There were scratches and marks all over her, looking like a patchwork of symbols, somehow, gruesome in their detail, their degree. One thing stuck out in particular, though – fresh bruising around her ribcage.

Harlan noticed it immediately and went about softly prodding it, taking in the coloring, feeling the bones underneath. "Just badly bruised," he declared. "Nothing seems broken or cracked. Lucky woman."

Then he glanced at her leg. "These pants need to come off. Should we get Birdie?"

Jesus frowned. Zora didn't seem like the shy type, but he didn't want to make assumptions and cross a line with her. But still – he didn't want more people in the group to interact with her than necessary, not until she was up and about. He knew she would favor that over anything else.

"No," he said, "just hand me that sheet, there."

Harlan nodded. Together, they draped the light sheet over Zora, from neck to knees. Then Jesus huffed, reluctant to touch her without her permission.

Harlan put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm a doctor, Jesus," he said simply, reading the conflicting emotions on Jesus's face. "I'll do it myself. Okay?"

Jesus nodded and looked away.

He turned around while Harlan carefully got the jeans off Zora and turned back when it was all finished. She lay there, pale and tired looking and utterly disheveled, in just her tactical bra, with the sheet pushed up to reveal her thigh.

Harlan began cleaning the long cut immediately. Once again, as with her stomach, there were other scars to notice. Jesus tried straying away from them – they just seemed so personal. It felt like he was stealing information away from her, secrets, and it felt wrong.

Focusing on the wound, he crouched beside Harlan and handed the man medical instruments when he needed them.

"It's a shallow cut," Harlan said after he'd cleaned the wound. "Shouldn't pose a problem – maybe two weeks to heal fully. No stitches." They placed gauze over it and bandaged her up. Then Harlan stood, returning to Zora's head, and began cleaning the cut. "I'll stitch this when she's awake – but we _do_ need to wake her. I need to see how bad her concussion is."

"You want the smelling salts?"

"Yeah, please."

Jesus found them in Harlan's medical bag and handed them over. He stood back, equal parts nervous for Zora to wake and relieved.

Harlan cracked the salts open and placed them under Zora's nose. The effect was instantaneous. Zora bolted upright, her hand coming up to wrap around Harlan's wrist. She shifted them, using momentum against him, twisting their positions around – pinning Harlan to the couch, her hand now on his neck, her legs pinning him beneath her helplessly.

Jesus stepped forward to stop her, but she must have seen him in the corner of her eyes. She lashed out; Jesus ducked and grabbed her arms. She was slower now, the concussion slowing her down, and weaker.

"Zora!" he tried not to shake her too roughly – she was dazed, glancing around wildly, as if she were under attack. "Zora, calm down – it's okay. It's me. Jesus."

Zora was breathing so hard that her chest was heaving, drawing attention to the tactical bra – which did _not_ hide her cleavage – and her panties. Fuck. She was standing here half naked, and here Jesus was, nearly holding her flush against him.

Swallowing hard, he guided her back to the couch. Harlan had already stood and watched the woman with a careful eye whilst he rubbed at his neck. There would be bruises, no doubt.

Keeping her on the couch, one hand on her shoulder and the other pulling the sheet back over her, Jesus canted his head towards Harlan. "Are you okay? I'm sorry, I didn't realize – "

"It's okay," Harlan said, composed. "Not the first time I've dealt with ex-military."

Jesus blinked. Ex-military. He hadn't thought about it before, but it made sense. All the scars… "She's confused," he finally said, looking back at the woman in question. Her eyes were closed as if she were experiencing a migraine, and she was trying to control her breathing. Her state of dress revealed the muscle lining her lean frame, the power he had always imagined was there. Even somewhat injured and concussed, she had fight in her.

God, he liked that.

Resting on his knees, he looked up at her face. Carefully, he moved his hand from her shoulder to her cheek. "Zora?" He waited. "It's me. Can you hear me?"

She sucked in a deep breath. "Yeah," she said, hoarsely. "Where's my bike? The motorcycle I rode here?"

Harlan and Jesus exchanged confused looks. "It's, uh, outside. Why?"

A sigh of relief expelled from her lips. "Thank God. He'd fucking kill me." She rested back against the couch and grabbed at her head. "My head's pounding." She peered through her dark lashes, first at Jesus, then at Harlan, a stranger to her. "I have a concussion. Not a major one, but it's bad enough." Then she looked closer at Harlan. "Fuck – I'm sorry – did I -?" she paused, examining his neck. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize I was here, that you were… good."

Harlan offered her a reassuring smile. "It's okay. I completely understand."

But still, she shook her head, looking terribly guilty. "What happened?" Jesus asked her, steering the conversation away from what had just occurred. "How did you… you've got a cut on your leg, and your head needs some stitches…"

"Yeah," Zora nodded, nearly rolling her eyes. "My own fault. I was trying to escape a horde of walkers, and that bike isn't exactly meant to be taken off-road. Hit something in the ground and went over the handlebars. Knocked me out for a while."

"Shit," Jesus remarked. "Well, you're in good hands. Harlan's the best doctor around."

Harlan smiled kindly. "It's nice to finally meet you, Zora."

Giving a quick, strange glance towards Jesus, Zora smiled at the older, bronze-haired man. "It's nice to meet you, too. I'm at Hilltop?"

"Yeah. You walked here." Jesus sprung up suddenly and grabbed a water bottle from near Harlan's bag. "Here, you look like you need it."

Zora accepted it graciously. "I don't remember walking here." She took a long swig of the water. "You guys have any trouble? See any people around you don't recognize?"

"No," Jesus answered. "But we've been vigilant."

Harlan glanced between the pair sitting before him, a shrewd expression on his face. He packed up his medical bag and told Zora, "I'm going to need to stitch up that cut on your forehead later, but it can wait for now. I'll… give you two some time alone."

The way he said it made Jesus shift uncomfortably. One look at Zora told him it made her feel the same – her cheeks were ruddy.

After Harlan left, they sat in awkward silence for a few moments. Zora looked down at herself, suddenly. "You undressed me?"

"Uh, Harlan did."

"Ah."

"There aren't really a lot of women here," he said, by way of explanation. But he shouldn't have said it – she immediately tensed up and glanced around, wary. "You don't have to worry. We're not a threat to you."

Zora frowned. She continued to say nothing for a minute, staring down at her feet. "I came out here to help you and ended up fucking myself up in the process." Her eyes rose to him, dark and guilty. "Sorry about that."

He reached out to touch her hand, but stopped himself. He needed to remember that they hadn't seen each other in six weeks – had only known one another in person for all of two days! He needed to slow the fuck down. "It's okay. You made it here, that's what matters." Then, inexplicably, irritation rose in him. Anger. He stood and paced away from her, trying to push the emotion away for now. It wasn't the time. She'd just woken up…

"You're pissed at me," she concluded easily enough.

Jesus stopped mid-step, his posture rigid, his hands clenched. He breathed, long and slow. "No."

"Don't lie to me again," she said, irritated. "You did that before – don't do it, Jesus. That pisses _me_ off."

Finally he turned to her, glare in his eyes. As relieved as he was to see her, as, as… overjoyed he was, that she was _here_ – he _was_ pissed. Throwing his hands in the air, he huffed. "Zora, you didn't keep the fucking radio on. You didn't tell me where you were – I thought you were dead!"

Zora grew eerily calm. She sat upright on the couch, her hands placed on her knees over the sheet, and gave him a steady look. "You didn't have any right to know where I was. We barely know each other."

That pissed him off more. "Yeah? So then why did you feel the need to check up on me? You've got more of a right to that than I do?"

That shut her up. Her mouth snapped shut and she looked away. "Fine," she said. "I'm sorry."

Jesus shook his head. "Really? You don't sound it."

"What do you want me to say?" Her green eyes pinned him to the spot. "I came. I'm here. I'm going to help your people out so they don't fall to the same fate as me. Isn't that enough?"

Suddenly, the six weeks he'd been waiting around for her, hoping she'd show up, hoping to just _hear_ from her, seemed foolish. Clearly Zora didn't feel any particular way about him. She was here to fulfill a duty. That was it.

Pressing his lips together, Jesus looked off towards the window. "I'll show you to a room," he said, blankly, feeling… hollow. "You can stay there for the night."

He led her to its doors and left.

He needed to clear his mind.

000

Though she knew she needed to get up and begin working with Jesus's people, Zora was groggy and exhausted from her day. She managed to fall asleep sometime in the late afternoon in the room Jesus had left her in and woke up around one a.m.

She felt… shame.

Jesus, he was obviously glad to see her. And pissed that she hadn't come by sooner, or at least hadn't given him much opportunity to know that she was still alive. She shouldn't have lashed out at him about it – she hadn't wanted to, but did it instinctively. She had been thinking about him for so long… to have him in front of her, right in front of her, was strange. She wasn't sure what to do about it. Because, while Zora had admitted to herself some weeks ago that she felt a certain way about the turquois eyed man, they had only known one another for two whole days.

And she couldn't be sure how he felt.

It was a complicated situation that she really wanted no part of. Zora wasn't some love-struck woman who went about her life daydreaming about men and romance and any of that bullshit. She didn't have the time. She needed to survive, to get on day by day.

What did it matter, how he felt? What did it matter, how _she_ felt? It didn't. That was the simple answer.

But she needed to find him. Her headache had finally waned and they were wasting time. They needed to canvas the area, look around for Rudy. He could be anywhere.

Clothes had been placed at the foot of her bed, clean and around her size. Her vest was there, too – someone had washed it for her. But her gun and thigh holster were missing, much to her displeasure. She dressed quickly and pulled the vest on, sheathing her knives, before she stepped out of the room.

She hardly recognized the hallway, or which way she needed to go to get anywhere. After trying a few twists and turns, Zora found herself descending a grand staircase, going down towards the front door of whatever manor they were in.

She slipped out the door and into the cool night air. There were fires brewing here and there, a few people sitting at each one, but clearly most people were asleep by now. Those awake glanced at Zora curiously as she walked by them, keeping her eyes out for the long hair, the beard…

Her stomach fluttered. Ugh.

Finally, someone approached her. He seemed nervous, but he walked right up to her, his dark skin cast in shades of red and orange in the firelight. "You lookin' for Jesus?" he asked.

Zora nodded at him, sized him up. He was a good foot taller than her, with a head of black hair, but had to be around 18 or 19. Bulky, though. "Yeah," she said. "Who're you?"

"Kal." He didn't offer his hand. "Jesus went up to the tower about an hour ago." He pointed at the top of the manor – there was, indeed, a tower up there, open on all sides. A perfect place to stand lookout.

"Thanks," she told Kal, before heading back inside.

It took fifteen minutes to find the ladder that led up to the tower, but she did finally come across it. Her stomach fluttered again as she began making her ascent. She wondered if there was anyone else up here with him.

When she planted her feet on the wooden boards and looked around, Zora realized that this tower was crucial to the Hilltop Colony's survival. There were windows on all sides, showing off miles of forest and fields and roads around them. Up here, it would be hard to miss a large-scale attack.

It was dark. There was a lamp situated across the small room. Next to it, in a chair facing the east, sat Jesus.

He glanced over his shoulder at her and frowned. "You need to get that stitched up," was all he said, gesturing towards her forehead, his tone distant, distracted.

It had completely slipped her mind – she still had a gaping wound on her face. "It can wait," she told him, approaching him and the lantern slowly. He looked exhausted – like he hadn't slept in days. Her eyes trailed out towards the window, roving over the dark night, the brush of the forest, the fields that lay beyond. "This is a good vantage point for a sniper," she remarked thoughtfully, grazing a hand over the window sill. "Good cover. Could reinforce this wood," she knocked on the balustrade below the windows, "with some steel, and it'd be bullet-proof, too."

He remained silent at her assessment. Sighing, she glanced over at the man, finding his eyes already on her. They were so bright, even in the dim light of the lantern, and caught her off guard. "What?" she asked, tone harsher than she intended.

"You're ex-military?" he asked out of the blue. Zora shifted, angling herself away from him. Where the fuck did he get that idea? At the look on her face, he continued. "I… we saw the scars. When we were checking you for wounds. Harlan said he'd seen that before, with people who were ex-military."

Zora bit the inside of her cheek. "Does it matter?"

His eyes glanced away from her, clearly irritated. "Guess not."

Tension once more thickened the air. This was all going… wrong. Having anticipated this moment for so long – just seeing this stranger again – Zora hadn't once considered it would be an awkward encounter. Or tense, or anything but friendly. But here they were. Not looking at one another, not speaking.

They had to move past this if they were going to work together against Athol. And, more selfishly… Zora didn't want to argue with him. Not after abandoning the group she'd been with just to be here. Not after all her stupid, stupid thoughts about him…

Exhaling softly, Zora turned and slid down the wall, sitting on the ground right in front of Jesus. Resting her hands on her knees, she looked at the lantern, rather than the bright blue eyes that had once more focused on her. "I should have come back with you," she said, quietly… nervously. "When you first asked."

He seemed speechless for a moment. Instead of asking why she'd changed her mind or what had happened, he merely said, "Yeah. You should have."

Zora pulled her gaze from the ground. Stared up at him, anxious. "I'm sorry I didn't."

"Me too."

"But we can't keep… fighting," she said, swallowing thickly now. "Athol – his men are out there. Scouting for more people to add to their slave trade. We have to work together."

Jesus only nodded. His jaw was clenched, and now he couldn't even look at her. Why? Was he so pissed that she didn't come back that the… the friendliness they'd enjoyed before was gone?

Rubbing at her eyes, she decided to just continue with business. "You should introduce me to some of your best men. I'll take them out for a few hours right now, take a look around, see if we can pick up on any tracks or anything."

His frown deepened. "You think you're going out without me? At this time of night? With that gash on your leg?"

"I think you look exhausted," she said firmly. "What good are you, so tired? You need to sleep. I can handle this on my own. You know that."

Evidently, that only served to piss him off further. He sat upright, rigid, but his eyes were focused out the window again, as if it was hard to look at her. After contemplating himself for a few minutes, he finally growled out an "okay." He stood, looking at her to follow.

000

"So how exactly does he know you?" Wesley asked, becoming irritatingly more and more curious and chatty as the night progressed. Zora leaped over a massive tree trunk, landing silently in the brush before it, scowling all the while and mentally cussing at the sting that ran up through her leg.

"He saved my life," was all she said. Then she glanced at Wesley and Kal behind her, adding, "This is a recon mission, boys. Best not to talk. Got it?"

They nodded at her, clearly deferring to her judgement. That was good. That meant they could be trained, could be reliable.

They'd been canvassing the area for about two hours now, circling Hilltop about a mile out. Zora was looking for any signs of a recent visitor – tracks, a campsite, a vehicle, the likes. They'd come across her own tracks earlier – evident because of the motorcycle wheel indented beside her footprints – but had yet to see anything else that would suggest a scout had been around.

Zora didn't trust it. Sure, some of Athol's men were straight up stupid. But others, like Rudy… they were smart. Strategic. If he knew about Hilltop in advance, he'd know to be more careful. They'd have to canvas again at midday tomorrow – lots more to see. But it was valuable to be out in the night. That's when the scouts moved around most.

One of the rifles Zora had previously given Jesus rested in her hands, pointed towards the ground, but was cocked and ready to shoot should the need arise. Her hackles were raised – had been for the past two hours – in anticipation for something, anything, to happen.

Zora was beginning to realize that her fear of Athol went bone deep. This was irrational, what she was feeling – like there were eyes on her at all times. Completely irrational. But Athol… His men… they'd done a number on her. Worse than the things that had happened before the outbreak. So much worse.

After completing the final arc in the radius, Zora sighed and looked at the two exhausted yet marginally alert men behind her. "We'll come back out again tomorrow, and tomorrow night. It's important to stay vigilant, all right? These men we're looking for… they're crafty."

Again, both Kal and Wesley nodded at her intently. "Let's head back," she said, leading the pair back to the Colony.

The rest of the Colony was dead asleep when they returned, save for the two women on lookout above the gates. This place – it had everything, really. Decent housing, decent numbers, livestock and crops, a doctor… It was a good place to be. It'd be a great place to be, if they just had more fighters around. Like Daryl and Rick. Maggie and Glenn.

Loping up the stairs inside the manor, Zora sighed heavily and entered her room. She slept fitfully, imaging eyes watching her through the walls.

000

Zora didn't flinch as the needle entered her skin and pulled back out. Stitches had become pedestrian to her, a few years ago. Once you'd needed them a dozen times, they lost some of their bite. But the doctor – he noticed, and she could tell it unnerved him.

"You're a tough one, huh?" he remarked, as if to make friendly conversation. Zora felt guilt. She had definitely scared the man the previous day, by choking him, pinning him down to the couch that they now sat upon – but he was still doing everything he could to be kind to her.

She tried offering him a weak smile. "I guess so."

"Navy?" he asked. "Army?"

Zora bit the inside of her cheek. "Army," she agreed with him, perpetuating the lie. Number one rule of training: always stick with the same lie. Never, ever deviate. It was a small world. "How could you tell?"

The doctor chuckled. "Well, you didn't seem to like being woken up so abruptly. And then, there's the scars. Only time I ever saw another patient that looked like that was when I had a pregnant army captain in my practice."

"You're an obstetrician?"

"Indeed," he confirmed. "But don't worry – I remember all my other years in medical school, too."

Zora gave him a genuine smile now. "I don't doubt it. I appreciate your help. Honestly, I'm used to doing this myself. It's nice having a helping hand."

"It's no problem."

Suddenly, the doctor went quiet. His eyes flickered up, but immediately focused on stitching up Zora's wound again. Zora could only imagine…

"Hey." It was Jesus, as she had predicted. He stepped into view, his arms crossed, glancing over her worriedly. "How'd the canvassing go last night?"

"Nothing to report." She shrugged, but then remembered she needed to stay as still as possible. "But I'm going again shortly. They don't usually move about during the day, but I'll have better visibility."

"I'll go with you." That wasn't an offer, that was a statement. Zora frowned at Jesus, but didn't object. What could she object to?

"Oh, God," another voice chimed in, this one unfamiliar to her. An older man stepped into the room, his irritated gaze first landing on Jesus, then on Zora. "She's still here? Can't we get her out yet?"

He looked at her with disgust. "At least she doesn't look so… dirty, now, I guess."

Zora stiffened and waited for Jesus to react. She was not disappointed.

He rounded on the stranger, rigid, and shook his head. "I already told you, Gregory – she isn't leaving. She's _helping_ us. I think you might owe her an apology – and a thank you."

Gregory seemed affronted at this idea. "An apology? For _what_?"

Zora's teeth had already ground together so much, if she didn't open her mouth soon, they'd shatter. "Perhaps for talking about me as if I'm not here?" she offered. If her eyes weren't tricking her, she saw Jesus smirk. She looked Gregory over – he was frail, a little older than she expected someone to be during the outbreak. His eyes were snake-like… like Athol's. "And who the fuck are you?"

Yeah, Jesus was outright smirking. He glanced at her in amusement, but remained silent, allowing the other man to speak for himself.

Gregory was downright fuming. "I'm the leader of this establishment, sweetheart, and I don't take kindly to a _lady_ swearing at me."

Zora snorted. "A lady?" She squinted at him. "Are you as blind as you are rude?"

Harlan suddenly pulled away from her and muttered an, "I'm done there," before standing, watching the interaction with wary eyes.

Finally. Zora stood as well, her shoulders back, and eyed the supposed leader before her.

Gregory wasn't even paying attention to her anymore. He was staring daggers at Jesus. "You brought some… some _heathen_ , into our midst? What were you thinking, Jesus?"

Zora hadn't seen Jesus look as angry as he did right then – not even at her, last night – but fuck. He matched Gregory's ire in every measure. Pointing at Zora, he said, "I think this woman will save us. I've discussed that with you already, at least a dozen times now. And if you act anything but _grateful_ to her, Gregory, I think you'll come to regret it."

Gregory's nostrils flared. Giving his most acidic look to Zora, he stepped up to Jesus, eyes hard. "Is that a threat? Here I thought you were one of us."

"That's not a threat," Jesus said. "That's a warning. There are other communities out there that _are_ a threat to us. You can't ignore that anymore."

Without another word, Gregory rounded on his heel and marched away, walking into what appeared to be an office, and slammed the door. Zora watched the door for a few moments longer, half expecting the man to come back out and throw more insults at her, but he didn't.

Turning to her stiffly, Jesus recrossed his arms. "I'm sorry about that." He shared a look with Harlan. "Gregory can be… difficult."

"You don't fucking say," Zora muttered. She was absolutely incredulous. "That man is your leader? Are you joking?"

"Sadly, no," Harlan answered. He shifted uncomfortably. "He's not the best man for the job, but Hilltop's still going, so…"

"We get by," Jesus continued for him. He seemed ashamed of what had just happened, disgusted. Zora couldn't blame him. That man… he was a mess.

"Whatever," she replied, running a finger over one of the daggers on her vest. "Doesn't matter. Doesn't look like he has much of a spine to kick me out, so I'm not concerned." She grabbed the pack she'd laid off to the side. "I'm going to get ready to go out," she told both men, and walked away.

Harlan still hovered behind, his mouth ready to open, but reluctant.

"What?" Jesus prompted him.

"I just…" he ran a hand through his bronze hair. "Zora – she's a real asset to Hilltop, Jesus. We need someone like her. I don't want to see that messed up because of Gregory."

Jesus sighed. "I know. I'll deal with it."

000

"You were going to leave without telling me?" Jesus asked, shuffling to reach Zora before she stepped out the gate. Fortunately, he already had his pack ready and a gun holstered on his belt – he was ready to go.

Zora turned around, a bit shamefaced, and admitted, "I figured you'd prefer to go out with one of the others." Then she stepped forward, leading them outside, and the gate closed up behind them.

"Why's that?" He walked quickly to keep up with her. It seemed she already had an idea of where she wanted to go, where to look.

Without glancing back at him, she muttered, "Doesn't seem like I'm too welcome here."

Stepping over a fallen branch, watching the way she walked so gracefully through the forest underbrush, Jesus sighed. "Listen. Gregory… I'm going to deal with him. He won't be a problem."

"Gregory doesn't seem like the only with a problem."

He almost paused mid-step, hearing that. Clearly she didn't intend for him to hear her completely, but he had. Opening his mouth, closing it – Jesus thought. She was referring to him. "You think I don't want you here?"

Zora, walking in a straight line towards some destination invisible to him, shrugged. He hedged faster in order to walk beside her, to see her face. She kept it carefully blank.

"I do," he said simply. "I asked you to come back to begin with. You know that."

He watched her eyes skim the forest, alert and bright. "Doesn't matter. Let's focus on looking around, okay?"

He had to bite his lip to keep from disagreeing. "All right."

Three hours later, they were soaked with sweat and feeling the weight of their packs bear down on them. Zora refused to stop searching, though, and so Jesus did as well. She had insisted more than once that he return to Hilltop without her, get some lunch, but he refused. Unless she was coming with him, he wasn't leaving.

Zora was being thorough. So thorough that Jesus began question her methods. Hadn't they already passed by this site before…?

"There." Zora crouched to the ground, gaze zeroed in on something he couldn't see. Careful not to disturb it, she stood a good foot away and pointed.

Jesus followed her gaze. A… a footprint. He glanced down at it, unsure. "That could be mine. Or one of the men's back at camp."

Zora frowned at him. "It's not. We passed by here about an hour ago and there was no sign of movement through here. And now, this." Warily, she looked around them. "Someone's here. Could be further away by now, but we're two miles out from Hilltop. That's still pretty close."

Jesus's stomach sank. She was right. That was too close for comfort. "What should we do?"

She shrugged at him, then refocused on the footprint. "We're going to track it."

He watched as she readied the rifle in her hands, chambering a bullet, and adjusted the sword on her back. She looked so sure of herself, so confident. It was a confidence he didn't feel himself. And fuck, now that she was healthy, looking stronger… Jesus would never want to get into a fight with her. He pitied the man who would.

She was a decent tracker. They followed the set of footprints a mile out, heading south of Hilltop. But after twenty minutes had passed, they disappeared onto pavement, a road. They had arrived at a small town. Garfield, Jesus thought – that was the only town close enough to Hilltop for them to reach.

Zora cursed under her breath. "Well that was… useless," she said, perusing the storefronts, the handful of walkers shuffling about.

"No," Jesus countered, needing to feel more optimistic. "You said those footprints weren't there an hour ago… We should take a look around. See if he's still here."

"Guess it can't do any harm," she half-heartedly agreed. "But we stick together. Okay?"

He nodded.

After another ten minutes, his presence began to feel unnecessary. Jesus watched as Zora took out the walkers methodically, swiftly. She used her sword, which he had yet to see her wield, and he quite honestly was dying to know where she picked up such a skill. Where does one learn how to swordfight like that, in the twenty-first century?

Where does one get all the scars she has on her body?

He had so many questions and little prospect of any answers.

She cleared out two stores, having him keep watch as she ducked inside and checked for the dead and the living. She was efficient, quick. The concussion she'd sustained yesterday and the bruised ribcage hardly seemed to slow her down, the only obvious sign of injury she had the slight limp she walked with. Within another few minutes, they moved towards a stout apartment building.

He pulled her back from the entrance as soon as he saw it – a freshly killed walker in the hallway, blood trickling from a newly made head wound. Tense from his sudden movement, confused, her bright green eyes looked to him for an answer. He held up a finger to his lips and pointed at the body.

Zora stiffened further. Her gaze sharpened – she was prepared for a fight – and she slowly moved towards the door.

"Wait," Jesus whispered, grabbing the hand that reached for the doorknob. "What's your plan?"

Her expression shaded. "To find whoever's out here."

"Yeah, but what if you do? What then?"

Zora searched his face. For what, he wasn't sure. But she didn't seem to find it, because she sighed. "If this man is Rudy, then I'm going to kill him," she stated matter-of-factly. "If it's not, then I'm going to interrogate him."

"Then kill him," Jesus surmised.

"Probably."

Although he wasn't one to support such… cold measures, he didn't object with her either. This is what Zora was here for. To keep Hilltop safe.

"Stay on my six," she told Jesus before reaching for the door again.

They entered the building quietly, leaving the door propped open with an old rotted newspaper in the hallway. Stepping over the body, careful not to get blood on their shoes, they moved from wall to wall and listened intently.

A thud sounded above them.

Zora's eyes narrowed at the sound. She pursed her lips and continued clearing the first floor before they made it to the stairwell.

It had already been propped open, a rock holding it an inch from the doorframe.

Catching Jesus's eyes, Zora gestured for him to stay behind her. It felt wrong to him, like he should be the one charging headfirst into danger, shielding her with his body. But he couldn't object. Every movement she made, every look bespoke the training she had. Whatever Zora had done before the outbreak – ex-military or not – she was more prepared for this than him.

They crept up the stairwell to the second floor. Another door propped open. Sliding out of it, they entered the dimly lit hallway. Zora had traded her hunting rifle for the Glock, and stepped carefully through the narrow space, knees bent and footsteps silent. They stopped in front of the first apartment door. She placed her hand on the handle and nodded at Jesus to cover her. He stood ready, handgun facing the entranceway.

There wasn't time to open it. Behind them, from a different door, someone charged forward and slammed Zora's head against the wall. Zora had braced herself well – there wouldn't be much of a wound – before kicking Jesus out of the way, literally pushing him to the ground, out of any line of fire, before engaging her attacker.

With the wind knocked out of him, his gun scattered on the floor, he was initially confused. Then he lunged for his weapon and watched the skirmish play out before him, training his weapon on the constantly shifting attacker, his finger hovering over the trigger, his heart pounding away in his chest.

He didn't want to shoot this man, but if he had to. If he had to…

Zora knocked the man back, shoving him into the wall, and brought her elbow up to smash into his face. Blood spurted from his nose, his mouth, but this man was a fighter. He was trained.

He ducked another punch from her and produced a knife, slashing it through the air, hoping to land a hit on Zora. Fear coursed through Jesus's body. He needed to shoot this man, he _needed_ to –

Zora disarmed the man, twisting his arm around until it _popped_. He howled in pain, likely drawing the remaining dead that walked through the town, and fell to his knees. She moved quickly to finish the job – tossing him on his back, pinning one boot-clad foot on his chest, her other knee on the ground, Zora shoved her Glock into his face.

"Rudy," she greeted, voice cold. "Good to see you again."

"Fuck you, you crazy bitch," the man spat out, blood following his words.

000

Jesus dragged him into an apartment room and tied him to a chair as Zora kept watch, the head of the Glock always focused on Rudy's face. The man was tall – taller than Jesus – blonde, and a total meathead. Honestly, he was almost surprised that Zora had managed to take him down. Almost.

"You know what we're gonna do to you when we drag you back to camp?" Rudy was saying to Zora, paying Jesus no mind as he bound the man's hands together behind his back. "Athol has some real great plans for you, cunt. You're gonna wish you'd just stayed and got sold off somewhere. You're gonna regret the day you ever fucked with us, you hear me?"

Zora smiled at Rudy, sharp and fierce. "It isn't looking that way to me, right now. Or aren't you paying attention? You're not going anywhere. You're staying right here."

Rudy grinned sickly up at her. "Doesn't matter. They already know about the Hilltop. How long you think it'll take before they realize you're there? I'd say a handful of days, at most. They'll come looking for me, and they'll start there."

Zora's expression turned blank. "What do you mean they already know about Hilltop? For how long?"

"For weeks, you bitch. I'm surprised you managed to hide for that long. Not any more."

Zora exchanged a glance with Jesus. They already knew about Hilltop? Fuck. Why hadn't they done anything yet? What exactly did they send Rudy out to scout for?

"Heard you killed Jonathan and Franco," Rudy commented offhandedly. "Jerry, now, too – isn't that right? He never came back. Went out west, I think. They'll be sending reinforcements."

For the first time, Jesus could read the fear on Zora's face, plain as day. Normally she was talented at hiding it, but now – what was she afraid of? What was out west?

She steeled herself. Looking to Jesus, she said quietly, "I think you should leave us alone for a moment."

Jesus resolutely shook his head. "Not gonna happen," he said firmly. "I'm not letting you out of my sight, Zora."

"Smart man," Rudy commented. "She's a tricky bitch. Never know when she might kill you, too."

Jesus glared down at the man. "Shut up, or I'm sure we can shorten your time on this earth more than we already will."

Zora seemed surprise at his outburst. But anger had built up inside of him – anger at this man, Rudy, anger at his leader, Athol, anger at… at everything. Everything was at risk now.

They couldn't afford to just let him go. He knew that was exactly what Zora was thinking. If they let him go, he'd run back to Athol's camp, and a whole team would be sent out to get Zora. He understood that, now. They wanted her, bad.

But why?

Zora looked at Jesus imploringly. "Please, go," she said softly, her eyes sad. "I don't want you to see this."

"Don't want your boyfriend to judge you for killing someone in cold blood?" Rudy whistled, long and loud. "Think he doesn't already know you're a crazy whore?"

Before he could think about it, Jesus reeled his arm back and punched Rudy in the face. The chair toppled over with the force and Jesus's fist throbbed. He stared down at the disgusting man, jaw slack, surprised at what he'd done, the passion, the… _fuck_. Rudy's face was swelling, ugly and red. Blood seeped out of his mouth. But still, he managed to look up at Jesus and laugh.

"You're crazy too, aren't you? Must be," he said, nodding at Zora, "to deal with a bitch like that."

"That's enough," Zora said, silencing Jesus's retort. Anger was boiling within him. The calm façade he had practiced so hard to keep was slipping from his grip. He closed his eyes and breathed, in and out.

That was his mistake. Rudy, having managed to get out of the binds over his wrists when the chair toppled, lunged for Jesus. He opened his eyes just in time to see a knife slashing towards him –

A gunshot rang out. Rudy slumped to the ground, a small hole in his head, his eyes slowly glazing over as the life left him. Breathing heavily, panicking, Jesus looked to Zora.

She was… sad. Her eyes were on him and him only, but her gun was still pointed at Rudy. Smoke lethargically twirling in the air.

Zora had probably just saved his life. But the way she looked at him, so brokenhearted, so fearful… He stepped towards her, reaching out to push down the gun. Kept his hands over hers.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, brushing some hair from her face.

She stood stock still, staring blankly at the body on the ground. Then her eyes shifted up to meet his. "Are _you_?"

000

The walk back to Hilltop was tense. They remained side by side, keeping one another in sight, but didn't speak. Zora could almost hear the gears turning in Jesus's head. His gaze was on the ground, watching his step, but his eyes were reflective, as if he were deep in thought.

She felt ashamed. The one person she hadn't wanted to see her kill, to see her in her true state… and now he'd seen it all.

Zora had never disliked that about herself. The fact that she could make the hard decisions, pull the trigger when it was tough. But today, she loathed it about herself. She wished she could be different. Softer.

But she couldn't.

She kept holding her breath, waiting for him to tell her they didn't need her after all. Didn't need all the trouble she'd bring, all the blood. She thought of Daryl, suddenly – of how he hadn't wanted to see her kill someone so much that he'd done it himself. Took the burden off her shoulders and placed it on his own.

Hilltop was in sight – she could see the tower at the top of the house, could detect some lamp-light on up there. Someone must see them, hopefully.

Before they stepped out of the forest, though, Jesus placed his hand on her arm, stopping her.

Zora's heart skipped a beat and her stomach plummeted to her toes. This was it. He was going to tell her to get out, tonight – that she wasn't who he thought she was. She couldn't help them.

She couldn't turn to face him. Couldn't look at him while he said it.

"What's out west?" Jesus asked quietly, breaking the silence between them.

Zora absorbed those words for several moments. _What's out west?_ What? Daring to look at him, she was confused. "What? What do you mean?"

Jesus's turquois eyes looked gray in the dark. He studied her intently, before saying, "That man – Rudy – he said you'd killed someone who went west of here. You looked… scared. What's out west?"

Zora glanced at her boots. "Nothing," she lied. "I was just surprised they knew about that."

He shook his head, his grip on her arm tightening fractionally. "You're lying. When you first got here, when Harlan and I woke you up, you mentioned someone. Whoever own's the motorcycle. There's… a man, out west? Someone you know?"

Fuck fuck fuck. She had, hadn't she? She'd mentioned that Daryl would kill her if she messed up his bike. And now… fuck. How was she supposed to explain this? How was she supposed to tell him that only days after he had implored her to return to Hilltop with him, she returned to Alexandria with two other men? That she… stayed?

Stepping away from him so his hand would drop, Zora faced the shadowed forest. She rubbed at her eyes and thought hard.

"You're going to lie to me again," Jesus detected, irritated. "Just tell me – who is it? Who's out there?"

"What do you care?" she asked bitingly, turning to look at him once more, her green eyes hard. "You just saw what I did to that man. What the fuck do you care, now? I told you when we first met, Jesus – I'm just gonna bring trouble your way. And now look. That's exactly what's happening."

Jesus looked a cross between incredulous and hurt. He stepped towards her, only a foot away now, and held her gaze firmly. "You think that was your fault? You think them knowing about Hilltop has anything to do with you? You said it before! That's what they _do_. Look for more people to… add to their trade. This isn't on you." She wanted to look away again, desperately didn't want to look at him, but he stepped closer once more and grabbed her chin, surprising them both. Her eyes, widened, stared up into his. "Yeah, you killed him. But you had to. You're protecting this place. You were saving my life. You think I'm pissed about that?"

"I think," she started, eyes flickering over him, "I think… I'm not who you thought I was, when we first met. You thought I could add to this community. But you witnessed today what I really do."

"Which is what?" his voice had raised now – surely the guards at the gate could hear them. "Protect people? That's what you did today. What are you expecting me to say? What is it you want me to tell you?"

His fingers were warm on her chin, a distraction. She stepped back, needing the distance, needing room to think. "I'm waiting for you to tell me to leave," she admitted.

That sobered him. Instead of angry, he looked… upset. "You'll be waiting forever, then. I'm never going to say that."

Relief blossomed in Zora's stomach; sick, twisted relief. Because it would be better for them, for all of them, if she weren't here. If she weren't adding to the danger they were in. "You should. They'll come for Hilltop –"

"And we'll have you here," Jesus finished for her. "To help protect it."

"You'll have me here," she corrected, "as a beacon for trouble. They want me, Jesus. I don't know why, but they _really_ want me."

His eyes glued to her, entirely serious and conflicted and worried, he finally shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah. So then we can protect you, too."

Zora stared at her hands, speechless. She'd been expecting to be turned away… not embraced further into this community, this place she didn't even know yet. "I don't know if you can," she said simply, before turning towards the gate, leaving Jesus to catch up on his own.

She tugged on the strands of her hair, feeling… torn. They couldn't protect her, but she could protect them. What the hell did that mean for her?

000

 **A/N** : This was a super long chapter, so I had to cut in in half here. Whew! Also, not sure if I mentioned it before, but I upped the rating on this fic due to all the language. Just to be safe. Review if you enjoyed it at all! Thanks!


	5. Chapter 4 Part 2

**Four: Part Two**

Zora didn't sleep. She took over watch up in the tower, sitting in the hard-backed chair, restless eyes waiting for a threat to emerge from the forest.

She needed a plan. If Jesus wasn't going to kick her out, and if Athol's group already knew about Hilltop… they needed to brainstorm. Needed to be prepared. Because Athol's men would come looking for Rudy, and where better to start than with the small colony of people he had been keeping tabs on?

Hours passed. She didn't eat. Couldn't even doze off. Her mind just kept running through different scenarios… Hilltop being surrounded by Athol's men, the residents of the colony being carted off for auction, Jesus being ripped from her, Gregory being executed… There wasn't enough manpower here, enough fighters, for them to have a proper stand.

But… if Rick and they others, if they were here… They would not only stand a chance, but they could annihilate Athol altogether.

By the time the sun rose in the morning, Zora had deduced that their only option, if they didn't want to flee Hilltop, was to go to Alexandria for help.

But that involved telling Jesus where she'd been for six weeks. That involved admitting that she hadn't taken him up on his offer, but someone else's. They'd need to get Gregory on board, which would be next to impossible, and then Rick, which would be just as hard…

And she'd have to face Daryl.

The whole plan was shrouded in uncertainty and contingent upon receiving help from Rick and his people. _Her_ people, she had to remind herself. And there just wasn't any guarantee that it would happen.

A voice from behind her startled her. "Dude… have you been awake this whole time?"

Zora turned to find Kal staring at her incredulously. "How long has it been?" she asked, not having a watch.

He shook his head at her. "You took over at eleven. It's six a.m. now. My watch."

Shit. She really needed some sleep. Nodding, Zora stood and allowed Kal to take her place. She handed him her rifle. "Just in case," she added, before heading down the ladder.

000

She was in a cage. It smelled of shit and piss, absolutely reeked, and stole the air from her lungs. She woke this way – in the cage, trapped, locked away. It was small enough that she had to hunch over so as to not hit her head on the top. A dog's cage, for long distances, car travel. She recognized it by the steel braided 'windows', the hard case on the outside.

Someone was carrying her. The smell of smoke pervaded her lungs, burned her eyes, hovering in the cage and dissipating slowly. The knife wound on her abdomen stung and throbbed with every jolt, every measured stride from whoever was carrying her around like a goddamn animal.

She moved to brace her hand on the front of the cage, but yelped when she found them cut up, raw. Fuck… Remember, Zora, what happened? She was being hunted… through the forest. Her group, those college kids and the dad, they gave her up. These men, they wanted her… but for what?

Suddenly, she was dumped on the ground, jostled so hard her teeth knocked together and it felt like her brain rattled in her head. Someone was speaking, but she couldn't hear what was being said.

The cage door was unlocked and thrown open. She peered out, seeing a fire, a band of people around it –

Her cage was lifted and she was dropped on the ground again. This time, her cut-up hands mixed in with the dirt. She felt disgusting, and she knew she was in bad shape. But she needed to assess the situation...

Opening her eyes, glancing around herself, she found that she was in the middle of a horde of men. They stared at her, lecherously, hungrily, in a way she knew too well. But behind them – that's what scared her. That's what haunted her. All the bodies. All the people, still living. Stuck in cages, like her own, sobbing, bone-skinny, bleeding… Some hanging from the trees, being skinned alive, being stripped of their meat.

Zora felt her head grow heavy, her vision swim. She was going to pass out. But before she did, a man stepped into view. Two of his teeth were gold – he was grinning at her cruelly, with the same hunger the other men had. "A beautiful one," he remarked to someone she didn't notice. "A fighter, too. This one's too valuable to be eaten. Put her in with the rest of the slaves."

Screaming… there was screaming. She was forced to her feet, hands on her arms, and there was so much screaming…

Suddenly, she opened her eyes, blinking into her dimly lit room in Hilltop. There were hands on her arms, gentle hands, and someone was cooing at her.

 _She_ was screaming.

"Shh, it's fine – Zora, it's just a dream, it's okay – Zora?"

She was shaking in fear, trembling like a frail leaf on a tree, her teeth chattering together. Blinking, clearing her vision, trying to erase the sight of human flesh falling off a living body, she looked up at Jesus, who was still running his hands up and down her arms, trying to soothe her.

"Hey," he said quietly, eyes dark and worried. "You with me?"

She nodded her head absently, but the image – it was burned into her brain. The piles of skin, the blood… - they hung them upside down sometimes and slit their throats, drained them of blood… you could always hear the screams, when they choked on their own blood… when they died. You always wished they'd die faster, because God, the agony…

" _Zora_." His hand was cupping her face now, warm and soft and kind. He had pulled a blanket up and wrapped it around her shoulders, likely assuming that she was shivering from the cold. She pushed it off and sat up, staring at her hands.

"What did they do to you?" Jesus asked quietly, almost to himself, clearly not expecting an answer.

But Zora shook her head, shutting her eyes. She tried breathing in and out, in and out… "It wasn't what they did to me," she finally told him. "It was others. It was always the others."

He watched her carefully, looking heartbroken. Then he pulled her towards him, making sure she knew what he was doing so she could object, and rested her head against his shoulder. "It'll be okay," he told her, sounding so confident, so sure. "Everyone will be safe. We'll make sure of it."

She didn't pull away from him; instead, she nuzzled her head into his shoulder, pulled one arm against him. God, she hadn't felt this weak, this terrified, in a long while. Jesus encircled her with his arms and held her close, and for a moment, she almost felt… safe.

That's when she knew they _had_ to go to Rick. There wasn't any other choice. They needed help, here. It was just a matter of getting there and back in time.

000

No matter how long he lived post-outbreak, Jesus would never forget the sight of Zora thrashing about in her bed, scared to death of whatever she was seeing in her mind. He had been terrified, utterly terrified, and found himself haunted by the image endlessly. The ever strong and confident Zora was _scared_. She was so scared that she shook. She was so scared that she allowed him to touch her, to try to offer her some measly form of comfort, and didn't even object, but moved closer to him.

Fuck. The Zora that stood before him now, dressed in her vest, skinny jeans, and tactical boots, armed to the teeth, staring Gregory down like a goddamn queen, was an entirely different person. He could hardly reconcile the two.

"Another group?" Gregory laughed incredulously. "You want us to bring another group here?" He turned to Jesus, tossing his hands up. "This is your… _woman_. I think you ought to get her under control."

Before Jesus could respond to that, Zora had stalked up to Gregory's desk and planted one of her daggers in it. The old man flinched away from her in fear, eyes wide, mouth gaping like a fish. "The hell –"

"You listen to me, Gregory," she told him, voice gravelly and low and commanding. Her impatience shone in every line of her body; her desperate need for this man to understand her. "There will be men storming your colony in a matter of days, a week if we're lucky. They aren't good men. They enslave people, they _eat_ people – what do you think they'll do with you?" She looked him up and down, considering this herself. "You wouldn't be very useful as a slave. Not one who labors, anyway. Maybe you'd be a human shield for them, someone to walk through the dead and get eaten, take one for the team, you know? Or maybe you'd just become the meat they grill over the fire. Either way, it doesn't look good for you. Are you hearing me now?"

Eyes still bulging, the fear exuding from his body, Gregory merely nodded.

"Good," Zora said. "So you need help. None of your people are fighters – except for Jesus, and maybe Kal. You _need_ fighters. I know a group who can help you."

Jesus was surprised that Gregory managed to find his voice. Even he was speechless.

"At what cost?" Gregory asked, composing himself once more. "What you're suggesting – we can't afford to have another group exploit us!"

"They won't exploit you," Zora said. "That's not who they are. It'd just be an exchange – protection for food. They could use some seeds, some farming tools. Fair and equal exchange."

Gregory's eyes turned to Jesus again. "And you – what do you think about all this? You think this woman knows what she's talking about?"

Swallowing his pride – because no, Jesus had no idea that Zora had been with another group, knew them well enough to propose going back to their community and rally them for a fight. To be honest, it nagged at him. Irrationally. He should be happy she found people to keep her safe. Instead, he was… jealous, almost.

But the nightmare she had… yeah, Zora definitely knew what she was talking about.

"Yes," Jesus said simply. He met Zora's gaze. "I trust Zora. With my life."

"With all our lives?" Gregory asked, skeptical. The fear was running out of him, turning him into a pig-headed old man again. "You really think I can entrust _her_ with that kind of responsibility?"

"Yes," he repeated. Because it was the truth. "I do."

Gregory looked at Zora and Jesus as if they'd become the dead themselves. "You're both batshit crazy. _No_."

Zora nearly snarled at Gregory. Reaching forward, she yanked her dagger out from the desk, keeping it in hand, a threatening gesture for the old man. "You'll get these people killed," she told him. "But I won't. I'll do what I have to."

She marched out of the room without looking back.

000

Though she didn't have much to pack up – just the weapons she arrived here with, her clothes, some miscellaneous items and _definitely_ Daryl's keys – Zora packed her bag with the precision and meticulousness that she had learned in training. Clothes needed to be folded perfectly, the weight of the pack needed to be balanced…

"I'm going with you," Jesus said from the doorway, his arms crossed, his long hair down.

Zora sighed. Resting her palms on the bed, allowing her hair to fall forward and cover her face, she replied, "No. You aren't."

"It's non-negotiable, Zora." There was that firm voice of his, the one that told her arguing would be futile. Zora would be lying if she said she disliked it. But right now, it was getting on her nerves.

Standing upright, Zora gave him an exasperated look. "Everything's negotiable," she countered. Crossing her arms, "And you're not coming. They'll need you here."

"If we're there and back within twenty-four hours, they'll be fine here," Jesus argued. He stepped further into her room, glanced at her pack. "I'm not letting you go out there alone again."

A groan of irritation fell from her lips. Her head canted towards the ceiling, as if she might find some form of patience for this conversation, but unsurprisingly, she didn't. "If this is about this morning… you weren't supposed to see that. I haven't had nightmares in a while."

"It's not about the nightmare. It's about me looking out for you. It's about me… _being_ there."

The way he said that… Zora wasn't deaf. He desperately wanted to go with her. Would follow her, even if she told him no.

Crossing her arms, feeling bare after what he'd witnessed in the morning, Zora persisted. "Why? You know I can do it alone. Besides, I'm not sure how they'll respond to me bringing a stranger inside. Rick… he's, well, he's not the most reasonable right now."

Jesus gave a bitter laugh. "Rick? Is that who you're so afraid for? Who you won't tell me about?"

"No." Her tone was scathing, warning him to drop it. "Why are you so adamant to know, anyway?"

Once again, she registered the hurt flash across his bright eyes. Zora swallowed thickly. She didn't mean to keep hurting him, but she didn't understand…

Instead of looking at her anymore, his eyes dropped to his boots. His arms were still crossed, but tense now, and his whole posture was rigid. What was up with him? Why did he always react so poorly…?

"I trust you," he said finally. "If you say these people can help, then I trust them, too. But I _am_ going with you. Not because I pity you. Not because I think you can't do it alone. Because I _want_ to." His blue gaze glanced up and caught hers. "Okay?"

Zora bit her lip. It was hard to argue with that. "Okay. Then be ready in fifteen. We need to head out now."

000

Zora sighed as she glanced down at the bike. It rested against the wooden wall of Hilltop, neglected and forgotten since she'd arrived. The keys jingled in her hands, ready to go, to move, but she was waiting on Jesus.

Swallowing thickly, she could feel nerves flutter within her, through her belly, her blood. Nerves at returning to Alexandria, at seeing Daryl… Especially at seeing Daryl when she arrives back with another man driving his bike.

Oh, God. This was a terrible idea. Daryl might just kill her _and_ Jesus before they could even get through the gate. She knew he'd be furious upon her return… but her return with a total stranger, with some stitches in her head and a slight limp in her leg… Yeah. Daryl was going to blow up. Not to mention Rick.

Zora knew that Daryl had something of a soft spot for her. She wasn't sure what _kind_ of soft spot, but it was there. And hell, he made her nervous for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do about fearing his reaction.

Now she'd literally be caught between Jesus's presence and Daryl's, and fucking hell, that sounded like a nightmare on its own.

Boots crunched on the stone behind her. She knew who it was without turning around.

Jingling the keys in the air, Zora asked, "You ever drive a motorcycle before?"

As Jesus stepped into view, he glanced at the bike. "A few times. We need to take this?"

"Yeah. It's owner… I didn't exactly tell him I was borrowing it, before I left."

Something flashed in Jesus's eyes, something she couldn't quite read, but it was quickly gone. He pressed his lips together, skeptically. "Is this man going to kill me, if he sees me driving this thing?"

Zora couldn't help it – she laughed. "Um… hopefully not. When we get close enough, we can just walk it up to the gate. He won't shoot if he sees me."

Jesus 'hmmed' in response. Then added, "Is he going to kill me… if he sees me with you?"

That was definitely a better question. Zora glanced at Jesus with uncertainty, and that emotion – it came back into his eyes. Worry? Fear? No… something else. "I won't let him," she assured Jesus. "He has a bit of a temper, but he'll mostly be pissed at me."

"A temper? He ever… hit you?"

Zora groaned in annoyance. "No. Daryl has never hit me." She fixed Jesus with a serious look. "I think any man knows that if he were to strike me, it'd be the last thing he ever did."

He looked more put at ease, and nodded. "Can't argue with that."

Handing him the keys, Zora pulled the bike from its resting place and walked it in front of the gate. She threw its kickstand out and rested it on the gravel before turning to Jesus, who was watching her warily.

"Remind me why you aren't driving?" he asked, skeptically. "You seem to know your way around one of these better than me."

Zora smirked. "Because you're about fifty pounds heavier than me, and I couldn't keep us balanced. It'll be fine. You can put your pack in the saddlebag. We shouldn't have any trouble."

"Hopefully not," he mumbled as he walked past her, placing the pack where she said and mounting the bike. He pushed the kickstand up and looked over his shoulder at her. "Ready?"

Zora sucked in a deep breath. Him looking at her like that… on a motorcycle no less… a warm feeling spread throughout her belly. Fuck.

He looked her over, worried. "Zora, you ready?"

"Yeah," she said quickly. Too quickly. He caught on, but didn't say anything. "I'm good." Then she mounted the bike behind him, her nerves getting the better of her again.

Jesus kick started the engine. As soon as the bike started rumbling, Zora realized she was in for a long fucking ride. The gate was opening slowly before them, and her hands were tightly gripping the handles below her seat.

Jesus reached back and grabbed her hands, placing them around himself. "So I know you're there," he said, but Zora could've sworn she heard a smirk in his voice.

As soon as the gate was open, the bike launched forward, ready for its journey. Zora swore and tightened her grip on Jesus, which made him laugh all the way out the gate.

"Asshole," she muttered under her breath. "You did that on purpose."

"Maybe," he allowed, sparing her a glance, his eyes bright with mirth.

Yeah. It was going to be a long fucking ride.

000

Most of the ride was in silence. Daryl's bike was a loud one, forcing any conversation to be had to be yelled to the other person. Zora didn't bother. Instead, she settled into her seat, her arms still tucked around Jesus. For a while, she looked about and instructed him on where to go. But when they were on straight-shot roads… she allowed herself to lay her head against his back.

Maybe a little payback for his stunt earlier.

He never remarked on it, didn't shift uncomfortably, nothing. But Zora knew it was having some sort of effect on the man – she could feel his heart throb through his jacket. Sure, maybe he was excited about being on a bike, going to a new place… but it only ever sped up when she got closer to him.

That fucker.

She was currently laying her head against his back, her eyes closed, her arms tight around him. Zora would be lying if she said this didn't feel… right. It did. It felt so right that it fucking hurt. And although she could tell something was getting to him about it, she wasn't sure if it would feel right to him, too. She wasn't sure how he felt at all.

And then there was Daryl.

They hit a bump in the road, jolting Zora, forcing her eyes open. She glanced around, noting a familiar barn here, a torn away fence there…

"We're an hour out," she yelled to him.

Jesus nodded.

She nestled back into her place, against him. He seemed to sigh at this – an exasperated sigh. Picking her head back up, she asked, "What?"

She could see part of his face. He was pressing his lips together, keeping his eyes on the road, but was obviously deep in thought. "Maybe don't do that when we get closer. That man, Daryl? I don't want to give him any more reason to shoot me."

Zora pondered this. He was insinuating something she didn't particularly like. "We aren't together," she told Jesus, tone firm. "If that's what you're thinking."

He threw her a look that said _really_?

"Yeah," she said, irritated now. "We aren't."

"All right," he conceded. "Just seems that way."

"What? Why?"

He bit the inside of his cheek. "You never mentioned him until today."

"I had no reason to," Zora defended.

"Really? No reason at all?"

Yeah, now she was pissed. She pulled her hands from around his chest and placed them back at the handlebars under her seat, but that seemed to piss him off, too. They rolled to a stop on the side of the road.

He killed the engine.

"Keep going," Zora told him, vexed. "We need to make good time."

He angled himself around to look at her. "Yeah. We also need to make sure I don't get killed when we arrive."

Zora tossed her hands up. "You're the one who insisted on coming!"

"And I don't regret that," he told her sternly. "But I don't know what I'm walking into, and you're not really preparing me for that."

"What's there to prepare you for? We're sure as hell not getting some warm and fuzzy homecoming. There'll be a _lot_ of yelling, some threatening, but they'll get over it."

"And Daryl?" Jesus asked astutely. "Will he get over it so easily?"

"You don't even know him," Zora pointed out, heated. "So stop bringing him up."

Jesus scoffed. He rubbed at his hat, tugged on a strand of his hair. Finally, he got off the bike altogether. Zora stared at him incredulously. "Are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now?"

The look he gave her silenced her. "A tantrum? Zora. I'm trying to help you. All I've ever done is try to help you. So help me. Why do you have Daryl's bike if you aren't together?"

"Because I _stole_ it," she informed him. "Daryl would've never let me leave on my own. Especially not with his precious bike."

Fuck. She shouldn't have said that. It just made it sound more like they were an item. Fuck.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jesus sighed. "And that's what I'm worried about."

Dismounting the bike herself, Zora paced. "Listen, if you're concerned about him doing anything to you, then don't be. He won't. No one will. Once Rick understands who you are, what you're up against… they'll like you, okay? I have no doubt about that."

"Why didn't you tell me about him?" Jesus persisted. "In the first place? Why didn't you just mention it?"

Zora paused midstep. Anger had taken the reins of her emotions now – she couldn't even resist it. She whipped around and pointed an accusing finger at Jesus. "Why does it matter? You know, it's starting to sound a lot like you're jealous."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Zora realized they were a mistake. Jesus stared at her, unflinchingly, his eyes giving away everything. He… he _was_ jealous. Of Daryl. Of Alexandria. He was hurt.

All the anger that had been simmering inside her vanished. Zora realized she'd just made a huge ass of herself – God, why hadn't she paid attention sooner? Why hadn't she listened to what he was saying?

Stepping towards Jesus, her hand reaching out for him… she stopped when she saw his expression. Hurt. She shoved her hands through her hair and blew out a sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"You did," was all he said, voice hard. "Let's just go. We're wasting time."

"No, we aren't going yet," Zora said. She couldn't stop staring at the ground, at the trees… anywhere but at Jesus. This was fucked. Here they were, on Daryl's motorcycle, nearing Alexandria where Daryl would certainly give her the first degree… and she had only just realized that Jesus… he was afraid of what he'd find when they arrived. Of who Zora would be to someone.

When she looked up, he had already mounted the bike again. His back was completely towards her.

"Jesus," she said, stepping closer. "I – listen. I mean it, when I said I should've come back with you. When you first asked."

"Yeah," he said lowly. "You've said that before."

"But I don't think you understood."

At that, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes wary. "What didn't I understand?"

"What I was telling you. That I…" This was hard for Zora. She wasn't this kind of woman, she wasn't a romantic sort. She wasn't good with words. "That I should have come back with _you_."

He clenched his jaw, looked down at the pavement. Fuck. She couldn't patch this up right now, between them, whatever _this_ was. He was still hurt. "It doesn't matter right now. Let's just get to Alexandria."

Zora rubbed at her eyes. "All right."

She mounted the bike behind him once more, but kept her hands loosely around him this time.

She didn't dare rest her head against him again.

000

They'd dismounted five minutes prior to coming across Alexandria. Zora pushed Daryl's bike forward, Jesus hung back behind her, wary, his eyes flickering every which way. When the guard towers over the gate were in sight, Zora squinted hard to see who was up there.

Maggie.

Maggie saw them just as quickly. She looked completely bemused, but hollered behind her at someone, and waved at Zora. Zora waved back, feeling a lot less of the cheer that Maggie had exhibited. This would be a painful homecoming.

She couldn't gauge Jesus's reaction, since he stayed behind her. The gates were pushed open as they neared it, and Maggie beamed down at Zora. As soon as the gates were open… Basically the whole group was there to greet her.

Rick stood in front. He looked both happy to see Zora and livid that she'd left. Before giving out introductions, or hugs or hellos, she carefully pulled out the kickstand on Daryl's bike and let it sit out inside the gate, while it closed behind her and Jesus.

"Zora," Rick said, walking up to her, wary yet undeniably happy altogether. She was surprised to be pulled into a hug, a tight hug, before the former police officer stepped away from her and looked her up and down. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing," she assured him. "Just some surface wounds."

Then Maggie launched herself at Zora, hugging the younger woman fiercely, muttering, "Oh my God, we've been so worried. We thought you were dead, Z."

Zora smiled around at the group. "I'm okay, guys, really."

That's when she met Daryl's gaze. And quite the gaze it was. He was glaring at her, from the back of the group, but kept his mouth firmly shut. Zora could _feel_ all the things he wanted to say to her. She turned away from him, stiffly, and gestured towards Jesus.

"This is a friend of mine," she told the group. "Jesus." They looked him over like they would any outsider – with distrust, wariness, confusion. "He's saved my life," Zora continued, trying to sway them, to get him past the first barrier and into Alexandria herself. "I trust him."

Rick nodded at that. "All right. If you trust him… then so do I."

Simple as that.

000

They assembled in Rick's house first, after Zora had informed him they needed to discuss some things. The former cop understood immediately that these 'things' were trouble. He hollered at the group to get back to their work, that they'd see more of Zora later, and invited her and Jesus to follow him home.

Daryl tagged along, a silent presence, staring daggers at both Zora and Jesus. As they walked, she could feel Jesus tense up more and more. Of course, the smart man had realized that Daryl was somewhat… uncontrollable. A threat.

Still, she said nothing to him.

When they were sitting around the dining room table, Michonne, Glenn, and Maggie assembled with them, along with Rick and Daryl, Zora began.

"It's Athol," she told them. "He's… he'll be going after the community Jesus is from." She glanced at him, his bright eyes, his closed off expression. "They don't have any fighters. But they have food."

"Food?" That was Maggie. "You mean a stockpile or…"

"Livestock," Jesus answered for himself. "Crops. We grow our own food." He glanced around the table, reading the room. "This man, Athol… He'll come in a matter of days. We can't defend ourselves. Barely have any ammo as it is. But if you could help us… We could become trading partners. We can help with your food situation."

Rick looked sharply at Zora. "You told him about that?"

"I _trust_ him, Rick. So yeah, I told him. Because he can help. And we can help them."

Rick looked off into the corner, conflicted. It was Michonne who spoke up this time. "You've been with him, the past four days you've been gone?"

"With his people, yes."

"You went out looking for him?"

Zora exchanged glances with Jesus. She knew they'd want an explanation. "Before Rick and Daryl found me and brought me here… I met Jesus. He saved my life. He offered for me to go back with him, to his colony, but… I didn't. We'd been communicating by radio." Finally… God, finally, she looked to Daryl. His eyes were just as biting as before. Hateful. She had to swallow thickly, to maintain her gaze. "When Daryl and I interrogated Jerry, I found out one of Athol's worst men was going up towards Hilltop." She splayed out her hands, helplessly. "I couldn't just leave them to that fate."

"Couldn't tell us you were leavin', neither?" Daryl snarled, his gaze on her and her only. The room fell silent. "Couldn't tell a single one of us that you'd be gone? Y'know what we thought, when we found your note? You were lyin'. Ya weren't gonna come back."

"But I did," Zora pointed out. "And I had every intention to."

"Nah – ya come back with a stranger," Daryl said, his eyes shifting to Jesus. He was tense beside her. "A stranger you 'spect us to help, for what? Some fuckin' seeds? Ya shouldn't have come back at all."

That… that fucking hurt. Zora looked at him, her eyes sad, confused, and he just stared right back.

"We _need_ to be able to grow food, Daryl," Maggie told him, harsh. "Don't act like that'd be nothing to us. And Zora – we're glad to have you back. Daryl's just being… Daryl."

"Yeah," Zora said hollowly, looking at her hands. She couldn't stop feeling the sting of his words. Finally, she looked to Rick. "They need help, Rick. And they need it soon. It wouldn't be free – they'd help you with food. So… what do you think?"

Rick glanced around the table, lips pressed so hard together they were white. Turning back to Zora, he just said, "Give me a few minutes to think about it."

000

Zora had walked with Jesus out of the house. She was going to take him to her and Carol's, just to have a place to hang out in for a while, when Daryl accosted them.

"Hey!"

Zora froze in place. Jesus looked at her, worried, but held his ground. He was worried to leave her alone with Daryl. Ugh.

Daryl marched up to the pair, ignoring Jesus as if the man didn't even exist. He got into Zora's face, his own red with anger, and said again, "I said _hey!_ The fuck were you thinkin', huh?" He shifted on his feet, his jaw clenched. "Ya think it's okay to jus' leave like that! Ya think – hell, Zora! I went out lookin' for you. Ya coulda gotten me killed!"

Zora didn't back down from him this time. "I didn't ask you to go out looking for me – in fact, I specifically asked that you do nothing. That's on you."

"No, 's on _you_ ," he growled. "I told you not to betray me. And what did you go 'n do? Fuckin' betrayed me. Took my fuckin' bike, too."

"Which I brought back!"

"Along with this asshole!" he said, pointing at Jesus, acknowledging him finally.

Fuck, this was getting out of hand. Zora stepped in front of Jesus, effectively cutting off any retort he might've made. "Jesus is a _friend_ of mine, Daryl. The fuck's wrong with you? I'm back. I'm okay. I went out to help someone – you would've done the same. So what the fuck's wrong with you? You'd really prefer if I didn't come back at all?"

Daryl just looked down at her, a mixture of hurt and betrayed. Finally, he growled out, "If you hadn't've come back, ya wouldn't've brought all this fuckin' trouble with ya." Then he shouldered past Jesus and kept on walking, without turning back.

Zora stared down at her feet. Her cheeks burned a bright red. Tears wanted to fall from her eyes, but she blinked them away. Daryl could go fuck himself, if that's what he thought. She was doing the right thing.

"Zora," Jesus said quietly, stepping closer.

She stepped away from him. "Come on," she said, without looking back. "I'll show you where we can wait."

000

They sat in awkward silence in the living room, Jesus staring intently at Zora, Zora staring intently at the wall, when Carol walked in. Zora was so surprised to see her housemate that she nearly fell off the chair she was sitting on.

"Oh – Carol. I didn't realize you were here."

Evidently, by the shock on the older woman's face, that was a two-way street. "Zora? I just – I didn't know you were back." Then her hard gray eyes turned to Jesus. "And you brought a friend."

Zora stood, feeling the need, somehow, to protect Jesus from Carol's eyes. There was something off about that woman lately, something broken. Zora respected that she was tough as nails, but she didn't fully trust Carol. Not yet, anyway.

"Yeah," Zora said. "This is a Jesus. A good friend of mine. Jesus, this is Carol – we live here together."

"It's nice to meet you," he said kindly.

Carol merely looked him up and down. He was dressed like a bandit, bandana included, so Zora wasn't terribly surprised that Carol wasn't impressed with a man who called himself 'Jesus'. "You too."

The gray-haired woman had been on her way outside. She headed towards the door once more, but paused to look at Zora again. "Ah… I feel like I should tell you that, the day after you left, Daryl came by. I'm afraid he tore your room apart. I tried tidying it up some, but, well… you know Daryl." And she left, ducking out the door before Zora could even offer her a thanks for the heads up.

Crossing her arms, Zora glared harder at the wall. Daryl fucking Dixon – the biggest pain in her ass. Of _course_ he just had to tear apart her room. Hell, he had likely found the note, and in a fit of rage, just went off. Probably thought he could figure out where she was going, too. Great. Another mess she'd have to clean up.

To fill the silence, Jesus piped up. "Carol seems… nice."

Zora smirked at him. "Nice? You think so?"

He offered a wane smile in return. "Okay, maybe a little creepy. You've been living with her?" He glanced around, looking more curious at his surroundings. "Here?"

Zora nodded. "Since I got here. She's got her room, I've got mine. We don't really interact much. She's… troubled."

"Yeah, I could see that."

Heaving a sigh, Zora said, "I'm gonna take a look at whatever mess Daryl made." She started towards the stairs, but paused upon seeing Jesus's wary look. "I'm assuming you're not terribly inclined to be left down here alone."

"Not terribly," he admitted. "Your people look a bit trigger happy, if you ask me."

Zora grinned at him. "You aren't wrong."

They both headed up the staircase and turned left down the hall, en route to Zora's room. There were two other rooms in the house that stood empty. Jesus clearly noticed them when they passed by. "You have a lot of room, here," he commented, impressed by the community, the houses. "Enough for twice the people you have."

Zora gave him a shrewd look over her shoulder. "Yeah. I was thinking the same thing."

Finally, they came to her bedroom door. It hung slightly off one hinge, as if whoever had been inside last had slammed the door so hard that it broke.

Zora glared at the hinge, at the creaking sound it made when she opened it.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Tidy it up a bit? Had Carol been joking? The place was a fucking mess. Her clothes were strewn across the floor, the books she'd collected thrown neglectfully every which way, the bedsheets were torn from the bed… fuck. Daryl went apeshit in here.

Jesus glanced at Zora skeptically. "And you say you two aren't together." His tone was irritated, to say the least.

Zora glared. "We _aren't_. For the _last_ time, Daryl doesn't look at me like that. And I'd appreciate it if you stopped implying that. Else it'll be a long ride back to Hilltop."

He shrugged and bent forward, collecting her clothes. Zora joined him – they could at least fold some things, toss them on the bed. Who knew when she'd need her room again?

A chuckle to her right caught her attention. Sweeping around, Zora found a pair of her bright red panties in Jesus's hands. He smirked up at her, utterly amused, eyes dancing and bright.

"Hey!" She snatched them from his hands, held them away from sight. Thank God all the clothes in here were _clean_. "Those are… _personal_."

"Yeah," he chuckled, picking up some more pairs of brightly colored underwear. "I can see that." Zora glared at him while he laughed at his findings. "Thongs? Honestly, I took you as the boyshort type."

Ignoring his strange knowledge of female undergarment names, Zora snatched the other panties from him as well. "They're comfortable," she said defensively.

"Yeah, okay."

Then she looked down at them and frowned. God, Daryl had even gone through her underwear drawer? What a prick.

"Has anyone ever told you that your way with women is extremely lacking?" Zora said to Jesus, to counter his awkward discovery.

His turquois eyes shone with mock hurt. "Of course not. Women find me charismatic. Are you saying you don't?"

Now that was a road she wasn't going to go down. "I'm not saying anything at all."

"Hmm," he noted. "You just did."

Assorting the rest of her things on the bed, placing the books back on their shelf, Zora finally realized after a few moments that Jesus was staring at her. Intently. Soberingly. How long had he been watching her? What was he –

"When I first met you," he said, "I thought you were stone-cold. Just… kinda emotionless. But that's not true, is it?"

Zora swallowed hard. "I think you're reading into brightly colored thongs way too much."

He laughed, and it sounded so… sweet. "No, it's not just those. It's… you really care about people. The people here. They really care about you."

"They see me as useful," she denied, keeping her expression indifferent. "I have a unique skillset, and they know that."

"That's not just it," he countered her, running a hand through his hair, a bit exasperated. "Didn't you notice how worried they were? How happy they were you came back?"

"They're glad because I can keep them safe. Just like you. You wanted me at Hilltop to keep people safe… That's what I'm good at."

A pause stretched on long enough that Zora realized she must've said something wrong. Glancing at him again, she asked, "What?"

"You think I only want you at Hilltop so you can keep everyone safe?" He seemed… disappointed. "You honestly think that's the only reason I want you there?"

She shrugged. It was logical. Hell, she'd do the same, if she knew someone else like herself. "Why else?"

Those bright blue eyes searched her own for a moment, sad and unhappy. Why the fuck was he looking at her like that?

"It doesn't bother me," she said, as if to reassure him that he didn't need to feel guilty. In truth, it sort of bothered her. But only because of _him_. "It makes sense. I'd do the same, if I had to."

Shaking his head, Jesus turned away from her and placed a lamp back on her nightstand. "You're wrong. That's not why I asked you to come."

But they didn't have any more time to discuss the matter. She heard Rick call her name downstairs. "Zora! You here?"

Zora's eyes lingered on Jesus. She felt… she didn't know how she felt, actually. Confused. Still hurt, from Daryl.

"Yeah," she answered. "Be right down."

000

Now they congregated around Zora's dining room. Michonne, Glenn, and Maggie were back, following beside Rick. Daryl was nowhere to be seen. But Zora couldn't read their expressions, their mannerisms – would they reject the deal or not?

Templing his fingers on the table, Rick looked to Zora. "We'll help."

Zora smiled, sharing her relief with Jesus. "You will?"

"Yeah," Rick said. "We're… well, we're in desperate need of food supplies. Having a partnership with a community that can help us grow our own produce is priceless. But more than that – "he looked back at Michonne, at Maggie. "More than that, it's the right thing to do." His dark eyes refocused on Zora. "They tortured you. Used you. And you're one of us, Zora. We'll help you take them down."

Zora gave him a genuine smile, though it was steeped in some… some sadness she couldn't name. Maybe at the reminder of her torture. "I appreciate it, Rick."

"And you," Rick said, moving on to Jesus. "You're the leader of this community?"

Jesus blinked in surprise. "No – I'm not. He's back at the colony. He's…" he looked to Zora for help, but she merely frowned in return. Sighing, he continued, "He's a bit difficult to deal with."

That didn't agree well with Rick. "What do you mean 'difficult'?"

Zora cleared her throat. "Well, guy's a straight up asshole, but he's not a threat, Rick. He's just… stubborn. He might put up a bit of a verbal fight at first, but he's a coward. Won't be too hard to convince him." She looked down at her hands, not wanting to see anyone's face as she added the next part. "And if not... I'm known to be very persuasive."

She didn't see the others nod in agreement, but they did.

"This matter, though," she continued. "It's time sensitive. We need to get moving. Athol's men could reach Hilltop at any moment."

Rick tapped on the table. "Then we'll get ready. Leave as soon as possible." He looked around the room, seeing agreement on everyone's face. "All right. Let's pack up."

000

Zora could feel his eyes on her, burning into her, a physical touch almost. She was alone, finally – Jesus had gone off with Rick to see who'd join them at Hilltop – and she had expected Daryl might want to talk now. But he was just standing across the square, arms crossed… not approaching her. Staring her down.

Huffing in annoyance, Zora decided to get it over with herself. He watched her with hard eyes as she approached, looking her up and down, as if they were back to square one and he didn't trust her again. That hurt more than she cared to admit.

"You wanna talk?" she asked him, meeting his harsh gaze.

He shrugged. "What's there to talk about? Way I see it, ya found ya'self another group. Don't need us no more."

"Is that really the way you see it? You don't think that maybe I just didn't want to see another group of people razed to the ground… enslaved?" She held up her hands, scars facing him. "You think I could let this happen to someone else?"

His eyes darted to the ground. There it was – some shame. Good. Zora wanted him to feel remorse. What he'd said to her – that was shitty.

"I thought you 'n me…" he paused, searching for his words. "Thought we trusted each other more 'n that, Zora. Never expected you to up 'n leave without sayin' a damn thing."

Zora frowned. God, now he was guilt-tripping her, and it was working. "I knew you'd either try to talk me out of it, chain me up, or insist on going with me."

"What's wrong with me goin' with ya?" His voice took on some anger. "What's wrong with that?"

She couldn't really weasel out of that point… She could have taken him with her. But then, who would've been here at Alexandria? "I figured," she tried, "that me leaving was risky enough for this place. Taking you, too… they'd be more vulnerable, Daryl."

"And your friend? Ain't got nothing to do with him?"

Honestly, she just wanted to tear her hair out. The small jabs Jesus and Daryl were tossing at her, because of one another, were really starting to get old. But Daryl was right. It had everything to do with Jesus. Everything. "He saved me," she offered by way of explanation. "Before you and Rick found me. He saved me."

"So what, you owe him now? You gonna lay your life on the line for people you don't know?"

Zora glared. "I know Jesus. I know some of his people. They're good – they don't deserve what Athol might have lined up for them. So yeah. I'm gonna risk my life for that."

"You're stupider than I thought," he grunted at her, eyes hard again. "I can't believe this shit."

Zora raised her hand to slap him, but he caught it, mid-strike. His grip was firm on her forearm, strong. Daryl was _really_ strong. The look he gave her… it wasn't hurt, but it was ire. "Gonna hit me, now, woman? After everything I've done for you?" He released her hand, scoffed at her. "Fuck that."

She shouldn't have tried to strike him, but fuck. This was getting out of hand. "You tore my room apart, Daryl. Went through all my personal stuff. Where'd you get off doing that?"

"Where'd you get off, just fuckin' leaving? Takin' my bike, too?"

They were at a standstill. Daryl was content to stare her down for as long as he had to, but finally, he stepped closer to her, boxing her against the siding of Denise's house, his arms coming up on either side of her. "You listen, 'n you listen well," he growled out. "Anything happens to you 'cuza that group, 'n I'll kill him. Jesus. It'll be on him."

Zora could take Daryl – she knew that. She was highly trained, and he wasn't. But that wasn't what her current fear was borne out of. What he said… she could tell he meant it. If anything happened to her, he'd go after Jesus.

"It wouldn't be his fault," she said hotly. "And you fucking know that."

"Nah, I don't. Way I see it, he's the one that got you to up 'n leave in the first place. I don' trust him."

"You don't need to," Zora growled. "You just need to trust _me_."

"Yeah, 'cuz you've shown how trustworthy you are, these past coupla days."

Shoving at his chest, making him stumble backwards, Zora held her head high, her fists clenched at her sides. "You know I am," she told him, fixing him with a steady look. "You _know_ it. Don't pretend otherwise."

She marched away from him, still fuming, wanting to hit something, _anything_. God, Daryl got her blood boiling like no other. She couldn't fucking stand it.


End file.
